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ESSAYS 

IN 

LITERARY   INTERPRETATION 


Thomas  Gray. 


I^S^^f^S^W^ 


,  -.  Ibomin.Gray. 


ESSAYS 
in  LITERARY 
INTERPRI,-  X 
TATION 

Hamilton 

WlV^OHT 

Mabie 


yW>a)KrA^UBUSHeD 
^ODD,  MEAD  /^l 

COMPANY -MCM 


Copyright,  iSgz,  i8gj,  igoo 
Bv  DoDD,  Mead  and  Company 

All  rights  reserved 


Printed  in  October  1900 


TO 

MY    CLASSMATES    AND    FRIENDS 
G.  STANLEY   HALL 

AND 

FRANaS  LYNDE   STETSON 


Contents 


Chapter  Pack 

I.    Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature  i 

II.    Personality  in  Literary  Work  .     ,  31 

III.  The  Significance  of  Modern  Criti- 

cism       ...  71 

IV.  The  Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Ros- 

setti      .......     .,110 

V.  Robert  Browning 153 

Vl.    John  Keats:  Poet  and  Man  .     .     «  21,4 

VII.    Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante  273 

VIII.   A  Word  about  Humour    •     .     •     ,  322 


vu 


Essays  in 
Literary  Interpretation 

Chapter  I 

Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

MR.  ANDREW  LANG,  in  a  re- 
cent article  on  the  Greek  An- 
thology, reminds  us  that  in  many  of 
these  fragments  of  a  rich  and  varied  lit- 
erature we  come  upon  lines  full  of  the 
modern  spirit.  The  large  objective  man- 
ner of  the  earlier  poets  has  given  place 
to  an  introspective  mood  significant  of 
a  deepening  self-consciousness,  and  the 
remote  epic  themes  have  been  succeeded 
by  subjects  more  intimate  and  personal. 
It  is  true  that  no  period  of  literature  is 
wholly  destitute  of  glimpses  into  famil- 
iar life,  of  disclosures  of  personal  ex- 
perience ;  but  when  the  epic  and  the 
drama  are  in    the   ascendant,  these  are 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

Incidental  and  subordinate.  The  great 
emotions  and  convictions  are  presented 
in  types  and  symbols  ;  multitudes  of  per- 
sons are  represented  by  colossal  figures, 
the  range  and  compass  of  whose  lives 
create  an  impression  of  universality.  The 
pyramids  are  race  monuments  ;  they  have 
preserved  no  record  of  the  individual 
hardship  and  sacrifice  involved  in  their 
construction.  In  like  manner  the  Book 
of  Job, "  Prometheus  Bound,"  "  CEdipus 
Tyrannus,"  and  the  "  Cid  "  perpetuate 
ages  of  personal  experience  and  achieve- 
ment in  commanding  types  of  human 
nature.  The  personal  element  is  the 
very  substance  of  which  these  typical 
men  and  women  are  formed ;  but  art 
has  discarded  that  which  was  individual, 
in  its  instinctive  search  for  those  quali- 
ties which  are  of  universal  moment  and 
significance.  The  personal  element  en- 
ters as  substance,  but  not  as  form,  in 
the  earlier  literatures;  the  individual  is 
of  value  only  as  he  contributes  to  those 
ideal  conceptions  which  live  and  act  in 

3 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

epic  remoteness  from  common  life.  The 
mountains  are  of  the  same  substance  as 
the  plain ;  but  on  their  summits  the 
shepherd's  pipe  is  not  heard,  nor  are 
the  sheep  housed  there. 

We  note  here  one  of  the  most  strik- 
ing differences  between  the  literature  of 
comparatively  modern  origin  and  that  of 
earlier  periods.  The  books  of  this  cen- 
tury, contrasted  with  those  of  preceding 
centuries,  present  a  greatly  increased 
complexity  of  motives,  moods,  themes, 
situations.  Probably  not  one  phase  of 
experience  of  any  significance  has  escaped 
record  at  the  hands  of  poet,  novelist,  es- 
sayist, or  critic.  Never  before  has  there 
been  such  a  universal  confession  of  sins 
to  a  confessor  devoid  of  any  power  of 
absolution ;  never  before  such  a  com- 
plete and  outspoken  revelation  of  the 
things  which  belong  to  our  most  secret 
lives.  The  old  declaration  that  there  is 
nothing  hidden  which  shall  not  be  re- 
vealed is  already  fulfilled  in  our  hear- 
ing. Those  of  us  who  read  books  must 
i 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

be  slow  of  mind  and  of  heart  if  we  have 
missed  a  real  and  vital  knowledge  of  the 
age  in  which,  and  the  men  among  whom, 
we  live.  An  impartial  spirit  of  revela- 
tion presides  over  the  world  of  our  time 
and  uncovers  the  unclean  and  the  loath- 
some as  persistently  as  the  pure  and  the 
good.  The  selective  principle  of  the 
older  art  has  given  place  to  a  profound 
passion  for  knowledge  of  life;  we  are 
determined  to  know  what  is  in  man  at 
all  risks  to  our  tastes  and  our  conven- 
tional standards.  The  process  is  dis- 
agreeable, but  the  fact  is  significant ;  and 
we  shall  make  a  great  mistake  if  in  our 
detestation  of  the  methods  of  some 
contemporary  writers  we  refiise  to  see 
the  meaning  of  their  appearance  and 
activity. 

Literature  Is  so  closely  related  to  the 
whole  movement  of  life  that  every  de- 
cided tendency  which  it  discloses,  every 
dominant  impulse  which  it  reveals,  may 
be  studied  with  the  certainty  that  some 
fact  of  human  experience,  some  energy 
4 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

of  human  purpose  and  desire,  lies  be- 
hind. The  reflection  of  moving ,  stars 
and  overhanging  trees  in  the  depths  of 
still  waters  is  not  more  perfect  than  the 
reproduction  of  the  thoughts  and  aims 
and  passions  of  a  generation  in  the  books 
it  writes  and  reads.  This  conception  of 
the  indissoluble  union  of  literature  and 
life  is  no  longer  novel  and  startling  to 
us ;  but  we  have  so  recently  come  to 
understand  it  that  we  have  not  yet  fully 
grasped  all  there  is  in  it  of  suggestive 
and  fruitful  truth.  Not  until  we  have 
finally  and  forever  abandoned  the  old 
conception  of  literature  as  an  art  con- 
formed to  certain  fixed  and  final  stand- 
ards shall  we  learn  the  deepest  things 
which  books  have  to  teach  us.  So  long 
as  we  conceive  of  literature  as  an  art 
whose  limitations  and  methods  have  been 
established  for  all  time,  we  shall  have 
small  comprehension  of  modern  litera- 
ture, very  imperfect  sympathy  with  it, 
and  a  very  inadequate  conception  of  its 
meaning  and  its  tendency. 
5 


•    Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

Compared  with  the  literature  of  earlier 
periods,  modern  books,  as  has  been  said, 
show  distinctly  and  obviously  an  im- 
mensely increased  complexity  of  form 
and  spirit ;  the  passion  for  truth  and  for 
expression  has  become  so  general  and  so 
powerful  that  it  has  burst  many  ancient 
channels  and  made  countless  new  courses 
for  itself.  Literature  to-day  tells  the 
whole  truth  so  far  as  it  knows  it ;  for- 
merly it  told  only  such  truths  as  were  con- 
sistent with  certain  theories  of  art.  If 
a  modern  artist  were  to  paint  the  parting 
of  Agamemnon  and  Iphigenia,  he  would 
tell  the  whole  story  in  the  agony  of  the 
father's  face;  the  Greek  artist,  on  the 
other  hand,  veiled  the  father's  anguish 
in  order  that  the  high  tranquillity  of  art 
might  not  be  disturbed.  When  Aga- 
memnon was  murdered,  or  CEdipus  with 
his  own  hand  put  out  his  eyes  that  they 
might  not  be  the  unwilling  witnesses  of 
his  doom,  the  theatre  knew  only  by  re- 
port that  these  events  had  taken  place  ; 
to-day  the  whole  direful  course  of  the 
6 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

tragedy  is  wrought  out  in  full  view  of 
the  spectators.  It  may  be  urged  that 
this  removal  of  the  old  limits  of  proper 
representation  in  art  marks  a  decadence 
of  the  art  spirit,  a  loss  of  the  instinct 
which  set  impalpable  bounds  to  the 
work  of  the  imagination.  But  it  is  evi- 
dent that  this  expansion  of  the  scope  of 
artistic  representation  has  not  been  con- 
sciously brought  about  by  men  who  have 
worked  to  a  common  end  and  bequeathed 
to  their  intellectual  successors  a  tradition 
of  iconoclasm.  The  change  has  come 
so  slowly  and  so  inevitably  that  it  must 
be  recognised  as  a  universal  movement, 
—  the  working  out  of  impulses  and  in- 
stincts which  are  a  part  of  universal  hu- 
man nature,  and,  therefore,  normal  and 
necessary.  Great  literary  movements 
are  never  consciously  directed  ;  they  are 
always  the  expression  through  art  of 
some  fresh  energy  of  conviction,  some 
new  and  large  hope  and  passion  of  a 
race  or  an  epoch.  The  general  devel- 
opment of  literature  is,  therefore,  in  its 
7 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

main  directions  inevitable  and  benefi- 
cent ;  if  it  were  not  so,  progress  would 
be  a  blunder  and  life  a  stagnant  pool 
rather  than  a  running  stream. 

While  there  have  been  periods  of  de- 
cadence, we  must  assume  that  the  unfold- 
ing of  the  literary  power  and  faculty  has 
been  progressive,  and  has  taken  place 
under  laws  whose  operation  has  been 
above  and  beyond  human  control.  Men 
have  spoken  through  all  the  forms  of  art 
thoughts  of  whose  origin  and  final  out- 
come they  have  known  as  little  as  one 
knows  of  the  ports  from  which  and  to 
which  the  vessels  sail  as  they  come  and 
go  against  the  blue  of  the  ofiing.  The 
expansion  of  the  field  of  literature  has 
not  been  a  matter  of  choice  ;  it  has  been 
a  matter  of  necessity,  and  our  chief  con- 
cern is  to  accept  it  as  a  revelation  of  the 
general  order  under  which  we  live,  and 
to  seek  to  understand  the  meaning  of  it. 
Students  of  literature  know  that  when 
they  come  upon  a  period  of  large  and 
fruitful  activity,  they  will  find  the  lit- 
8 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

erary  movement  contemporaneous  with 
some  widespread  and  vital  movement  of 
thought,  some  profound  stirring  of  the 
depths  of  popular  life.  Without  the  un- 
usual enrichment  of  soil,  the  sudden  and 
affluent  fertility  never  takes  place.  If 
the  English  people  had  not  been  charged 
with  an  outpouring  of  national  spirit 
strong  enough  to  invigorate  English  life 
from  the  Strand  to  the  Spanish  Main, 
the  great  drama  of  Shakespeare  and  his 
fellow-craftsmen  would  not  have  been 
written.  If  literature  has  been  vastly 
extended,  it  has  been  because  the  literary 
impulse  has  made  itself  more  generally 
felt.  Formerly  a  few  men  and  women 
wrote  the  books  of  the  world.  They 
were  the  voices  of  a  silent  world ;  as  we 
listen  we  seem  at  first  to  hear  no  other 
words  but  theirs.  We  might  hastily 
conclude  that  there  were  no  thoughts  in 
those  old  times  but  those  that  come  to 
us  from  a  few  lips,  musical  with  an  elo- 
quence which  charms  time  itself  into 
silence  and  memory.  These  great  souls 
9 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

must  surely  have  been  of  other  substance 
than  the  countless  multitudes  who  died 
and  gave  no  sound ;  remote  from  the 
lost  and  forgotten  civilisations  which  sur- 
rounded them,  they  breathed  a  larger  air 
and  moved  with  the  gods.  But  as  we 
listen  more  intently  and  patiently,  these 
puissant  tones  seem  to  issue  from  a 
world-wide  inarticulate  murmur ;  they 
are  no  longer  solitary ;  they  interpret 
that  which  lies  unspoken  in  countless 
hearts.  How  solitary  Job  sits  among 
his  griefs  as  we  look  back  upon  him  ! 
All  the  races  who  dwelt  about  him  have 
vanished ;  the  world  of  activity  and 
thought  in  which  he  lived  has  perished 
utterly  ;  but  there  stands  the  immortal 
singer  with  that  marvellous  song,  — 
''sublime  sorrow,  sublime  reconciliation  ; 
oldest  choral  melody  as  of  the  heart  of 
mankind ;  so  soft  and  great ;  as  the  sum- 
mer midnight,  as  the  world  with  its  seas 
and  stars."  But  this  sublime  argument, 
which  moves  on  with  such  a  sweep  of 
wing,  is  not  the  thought  of  Job  alone  ; 

JO 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

It  is  the  groping,  doubting  aspiration  of 
the  East  finding  voice  and  measure  for 
itself;  it  is  the  movement  of  the  mind 
of  a  people  through  its  long  search  for 
truth ;  it  is  the  spiritual  history  of  a 
race.  The  lonely  thinker,  under  those 
clear  Eastern  skies,  made  himself  the 
interpreter  of  the  world  which  he  alone 
has  survived.  Back  of  the  great  poem 
there  is  an  unwritten  history  greater  and 
more  pathetic  than  the  poem  itself,  could 
we  but  uncover  it. 

Great  books  are  born  not  in  the  intel- 
lect, but  in  experience,  —  in  the  contact 
of  mind  and  heart  with  the  great  and 
terrible  facts  of  life ;  the  great  concep- 
tions of  literature  originate  not  in  the 
individual  mind,  but  in  the  soil  of  com- 
mon human  hopes,  loves,  fears,  aspira- 
tions, sufferings.  Shakespeare  did  not 
invent  Hamlet ;  he  found  him  in  human 
histories  already  acted  out  to  the  tragic 
end.  Goethe  did  not  create  Faust;  he 
summoned  him  out  of  the  dim  mediaeval 
world,  brought  him   face   to   face  with 


II 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

the  crucial  experiences  of  life,  and  so 
fashioned  a  character  and  a  career  which 
have  become  typical.  "  It  takes  a  great 
deal  of  life,"  said  Alfred  de  Musset,  "  to 
make  a  little  art."  The  more  deeply 
we  study  great  books  the  more  clear  it 
becomes  that  literature  is  not  primarily 
an  art  born  of  skill  and  training,  but  the 
expression  of  man's  growth  into  compre- 
hension of  his  own  life  and  of  the  sub- 
lime order  of  which  he  is  part.  Life 
itself  is  the  final  fact  for  which  all  men 
of  genuine  gift  and  insight  are  searching  ; 
and  the  great  books  are  either  represen- 
tations or  interpretations  of  this  all-em- 
bracing fact  There  are  wide  differences 
of  original  endowment,  of  temperament, 
of  training,  of  environment.  There  are 
broad  contrasts  of  spirit,  method,  treat- 
ment ;  but  a  common  impulse  underlies 
all  great  works  of  literary  genius.  When 
Byron,  with  a  few  daring  strokes,  draws 
the  portrait  of  Manfred,  when  Words- 
worth meditates  among  the  Cumberland 
Hills,  each  in  his  way  draws  near  to  life, 

12 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

—  the  one  to  picture  and  the  other  to 
interpret  it  No  rapt  and  lonely  vision 
lifts  them  to  heights  inaccessible  to  com- 
mon thought  and  need ;  their  gift  of  in- 
sight, while  it  separates  them  from  their 
fellows  as  individuals,  unites  them  the 
more  closely  with  humanity.  For  the 
essential  greatness  of  men  of  genius  does 
not  lie  in  their  separation  from  their  fel- 
lows, nor  in  any  moods  which  are  pecu- 
liarly their  own,  but  in  that  inexplicable 
union  of  heart  and  mind  which  makes 
them  sharers  of  the  private  life  of  the 
world,  discerners  of  that  which  is  hidden 
in  individual  experience,  interpreters  of 
men  to  themselves  and  to  each  other. 

The  great  mass  of  men  arrive  late  at 
complete  self-consciousness,  at  a  full 
knowledge  of  themselves.  The  earlier 
generations  attained  this  self-knowledge 
for  the  most  part  very  imperfectly ;  it 
was  the  possession  of  a  few,  and  these 
elect  souls  spoke  for  the  uncounted 
hosts  of  their  silent  contemporaries. 
When  any  considerable  number  of  in- 
13 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

dividuals  of  the  same  race  secured  this 
complete  possession  of  themselves,  there 
was  a  wide  and  adequate  expression  of 
life  as  they  saw  it.  By  virtue  of  natural 
aptitude,  of  exceptional  opportunity  for 
knowing  what  is  in  life,  and  of  a  train- 
ing of  a  very  high  and  complete  kind, 
the  Greeks  attained  a  degree  of  self- 
knowledge  which  was  far  in  advance  of 
the  attainment  of  most  of  the  Oriental 
races.  This  mastery  of  life  and  its  arts 
was  disclosed  chiefly  in  one  city,  and 
within  a  single  century  that  city  enriched 
literature  for  all  time  by  a  series  of  mas- 
terpieces. If  there  had  been  elsewhere 
the  same  degree  of  self-knowledge,  there 
would  have  been  a  corresponding  im- 
pulse toward  expression.  But  except 
among  the  Hebrews,  there  was  not ;  for 
the  most  part  the  races  in  the  East  con- 
temporaneous with  the  Greeks  did  not 
attain  anything  more  than  a  very  inad- 
equate conception  of  themselves  and 
their  relation  to  the  world.  Among  the 
Hindus  there  was,  it  is  true,  a  very 
14 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

considerable  and  a  very  noble  literary 
development;  but  this  movement  for 
expression  was  partial  and  inadequate 
because  the  knowledge  that  inspired  it 
was  partial  and  inadequate.  The  Hin- 
dus entangled  God  in  the  shining 
meshes  of  his  own  creation  ;  they  never 
clearly  separated  him  in  thought  from 
Nature,  and  they  never  perfectly  real- 
ised their  own  individuality.  The  great 
Western  races,  on  the  other  hand,  were 
so  absorbed  in  the  vast  activities  of 
growth  and  empire  that  they  had  small 
inclination  to  study  themselves;  the 
Romans  conquered  the  world,  but  when 
it  lay  within  their  grasp,  they  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  it,  so  inadequate 
was  their  knowledge  of  themselves  and 
of  the  real  nature  of  their  possessions. 
The  literature  of  such  a  people  will 
rarely  reveal  any  original  impulse  or 
force ;  it  will  not  even  express  the  con- 
sciousness of  power,  which  is  more 
clearly  realised  than  anything  else  by 
such  a  people;  it  will  be  an  imitative 
IS 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

art,  whose  chief  attraction  will  lie  in  the 
natural  or  acquired  skill  of  individuals, 
and  whose  chief  use  will  be  to  register 
great  deeds,  not  to  express  and  illustrate 
great  souls  and  a  great  common  life. 
The  Northern  races,  whose  various  stages 
of  growth  were  to  be  recorded  in  noble 
literary  forms,  were  still  in  the  period  of 
childhood,  and  knew  neither  their  own 
strength  nor  the  weakness  of  the  older 
civilisation  which  surrounded  them. 

During  periods  of  imperfect  self- 
knowledge  there  will  be  necessarily  fewer 
thoughts,  convictions,  or  emotions  to 
inspire  expression ;  and  these  will  be 
clearly  felt  and  adequately  uttered  by  a 
few  persons.  The  simplicity  of  life  in 
such  periods  makes  a  very  massive  and 
noble  art  possible ;  such  an  art  as  the 
Greeks  created  as  a  revelation  of  their 
own  nature  and  an  expression  of  their 
thought  about  themselves  and  the  world. 
The  limitations  of  such  an  art  give  it 
definiteness,  clearness  of  outline,  large 
repose  and  harmony.  And  these  limi- 
i6 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

tations  are  not  Imposed  as  a  matter  of 
artifice  ;  they  are  in  large  measure  un- 
conscious, and  they  are,  therefore,  inev- 
itable. To  impose  the  standards  and 
boundaries  of  the  art  of  such  a  period 
upon  the  art  of  later  and  immensely 
expanded  periods  would  be  as  irrational 
as  to  impose  on  the  America  of  to-day 
the  methods  of  the  America  of  the 
colonial  period. 

As  self-knowledge  becomes  the  pos- 
session of  a  larger  number  of  persons, 
becomes  general  rather  than  individual, 
the  faculty  of  expression  is  correspond- 
ingly developed  until  the  gift  and  office 
of  the  fortunate  few  become  almost 
public  functions.  Apollo's  lyre  still 
yields  its  supreme  melodies  to  the  great- 
est souls  only,  but  a  host  have  learned 
to  set  their  thought  to  its  lighter  strains. 
Now,  it  is  precisely  this  general  develop- 
ment of  self-knowledge  which  character- 
ises our  modern  life  and  reveals  itself 
in  our  varied  and  immensely  diversified 
literature.  Humanity  has  come  to  a 
a  17 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

large  measure  of  maturity.  It  has  had 
a  long  history,  which  has  been  the  record 
of  its  efforts  to  know  its  own  nature  and 
to  master  the  field  and  the  implements 
of  its  activity.  It  has  made  countless 
experiments,  and  has  learned  quite  as 
much  from  its  failures  as  from  its  suc- 
cesses. It  has  laboriously  traversed  the 
island  in  space  where  its  fortunes  are 
cast ;  it  has  listened  intently,  generation 
after  generation,  for  some  message  from 
beyond  the  seas  which  encompass  it.  It 
has  made  every  kind  of  venture  to  en- 
large its. capital  of  pleasure,  and  it  has 
hazarded  all  its  gains  for  some  nobler 
fortune  of  which  it  has  dreamed.  It  has 
opened  its  arms  to  receive  the  joys  of 
life,  and  missing  them,  has  patiently 
clasped  a  crucifix.  It  has  drank  every 
cup  of  experience;  won  all  victories  and 
suffered  all  defeats;  tested  all  creeds 
and  acted  all  philosophies ;  illustrated 
all  baseness  and  risen  to  the  heights  of 
all  nobleness.  In  short,  humanity  has 
lived,  —  not  in  a  few  persons,  a  few 
x8 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

periods,  a  few  activities,  but  in  countless 
persons,  through  long  centuries,  and 
under  all  conditions.  Surely  some  larger 
and  more  comprehensive  idea  of  life  lies 
in  the  mind  of  the  modern  world  than 
ever  defined  itself  to  the  men  of  the 
earlier  times.  Society  has  still  much  to 
learn;  but  men  have  now  lived  long 
enough  to  have  attained  a  fairly  com- 
plete self-knowledge.  They  have  by  no 
means  fully  developed  themselves,  but 
they  know  what  is  in  them.  Humanity 
has  come  to  maturity,  and  to  the  self- 
consciousness  which  is  the  power  of 
maturity. 

With  this  self-consciousness  there  has 
come  a  corresponding  power  of  expres- 
sion ;  the  two  are  as  inseparable  as  the 
genius  of  the  composer  and  the  music 
through  which  it  reveals  itself,  as  the 
impulse  of  the  sculptor  and  the  carven 
stone  in  which  it  stands  expressed. 
Thought  and  expression  are  parts  of  one 
complete  act.  As  conceptions  of  life 
multiply  and  widen,  language  is  uncon- 
19 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

sciously  expanded  and  enriched  to  re- 
ceive and  convey  them ;  as  experience 
deepens,  speech  matches  it  with  pro- 
founder  and  subtiler  phrase.  With  the 
power  to  communicate  that  which  is 
essentially  novel  comes  also  the  impulse. 
Expression  is  the  habit  and  the  law  of 
civilised  life.  There  is  within  us  an 
instinctive  recognition  of  the  universal 
quality  of  thought  and  experience ;  we 
feel  that  neither  can  be  in  any  sense  our 
private  possession.  They  belong  to  the 
world,  and  even  when  we  endeavour  to 
keep  them  to  ourselves  they  seem  to 
elude  and  escape  us.  No  sooner  does 
one  utter  a  thought  that  was  new  to  him 
than  a  hundred  other  men  claim  a  com- 
mon ownership  with  him.  It  was,  as  we 
say,  in  the  air,  and  he  had  unconsciously 
appropriated  that  which  was  public  prop- 
erty. There  is  a  large  and  noble  con- 
sistency behind  our  fragmentary  think- 
ing which  makes  us  aware  of  some 
great  order  of  things  with  which  we 
are  unconsciously  working.  Our  lesser 
20 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

thought  is  always  seen  in  the  end  to  be 
part  of  a  Jarger  thought.  The  investi- 
gator, working  along  one  line  of  scien- 
tific research,  finds  his  latest  discovery 
of  that  which  seemed  the  special  law  of 
his  department  matched  by  the  discovery 
of  the  same  law  operating  in  an  entirely 
different  field.  Men  of  large  vision 
know  that  the  same  general  tendencies 
are  discoverable  at  almost  any  given 
time  in  science,  art,  philosophy,  litera- 
ture, and  theology.  The  significance  of 
these  common  tendencies  is  deepened 
by  the  fact  that  for  the  most  part  the 
individual  workers  in  the  different  fields 
are  unconscious  of  them.  They  are  all 
unwitting  witnesses  to  a  higher  and 
more  comprehensive  truth  than  that 
which  each  is  bent  upon  demonstrating. 
There  is,  in  other  words,  a  continuous 
revelation  of  ultimate  things  through  the 
totality  of  human  activity  and  experi- 
ence ;  and  this  revelation,  which  is  co- 
extensive with  universal  life,  presses 
upon   men    for    expression.       Whether 


21 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

they  will  or  not,  it  must  utter  itself;  be- 
hind all  life  it  sets  its  mighty  impulse, 
and  nothing  can  resist  it.  With  the 
immense  expansion  of  modern  life  it  was 
inevitable  that  there  should  be  an  im- 
mense expansion  of  literature  ;  that  new 
literary  forms  like  the  novel  should  be 
developed ;  that  facts  hitherto  suppressed 
or  unobserved  should  be  brought  to 
light ;  and  that  phases  and  aspects  of 
experience  hitherto  unrecorded  should 
suddenly  enshrine  themselves  in  art. 

The  broadening  of  the  literary  im- 
pulse, the  impulse  of  expression,  has 
materially  changed  the  prevailing  char- 
acter of  literature  and  indefinitely  multi- 
plied its  forms.  Instead  of  commanding 
types,  massive  because  isolated,  there 
has  succeeded  a  vast  variety  of  more 
specialised  types,  in  which  the  great 
truths  of  experience,  instead  of  being 
generalised  into  a  few  personalities,  are 
dispersed  through  many.  Literature 
no  longer  reveals  only  the  summits 
of  thought  and  action  ;  it  displays   the 

22 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

whole  landscape  of  life,  —  continent  and 
sea,  barren  wilderness  and  blossoming 
field,  lonely  valley  and  shining  peak. 
Personality  is  no  longer  sublimated  in 
order  to  present  its  universal  elements  ; 
it  is  depicted  in  its  most  familiar  and 
intimate  forms.  In  art  Raphael's  Ma- 
donnas and  Michael  Angelo's  colossal 
figures  have  been  succeeded  by  Bastien- 
Lepage's  Jean  d'Arc  and  Millet's  An- 
gelus,  —  not  because  the  religious  feeling 
is  less  penetrating  and  profound,  but 
because  it  recognises  in  nearer  and  more 
familiar  forms  the  sancrity  and  dignity 
it  once  saw  only  in  things  most  beautiful 
and  august.  Under  the  same  impulse  the 
literary  instinct  seeks  to  discover  what  is 
significant  in  the  life  that  is  nearest,  con- 
vinced that  all  life  is  a  revelation,  and 
that  to  the  artist  beauty  is  universally 
diffused  through  all  created  things.  As 
the  wayside  flower,  once  neglected,  dis- 
closes a  loveliness  all  its  own,  so  does 
the  human  thought,  emotion,  experience, 
once  passed  by  in  the  pursuit  of  some 
23 


Essays  In  Literary  Interpretation 

remoter  theme.  Literature,  which  holds 
so  vital  a  relation  to  the  inner  life  of 
men,  shows  in  this  more  catholic  and 
sympathetic  selection  of  characters  and 
scenes  the  new  and  deeper  conception 
of  human  relationship  which  is  now  the 
most  potent  factor  in  the  social  life  of 
the  world. 

One  looks  in  vain  through  the  earlier 
literatures  for  such  frank  disclosures  of 
personal  feeling  and  habit,  such  unveil- 
ing of  self,  as  are  found  in  Montaigne, 
Cellini,  Rousseau,  and  Amiel.  But  these 
direct  and  explicit  confessions  are  hardly 
more  personal  and  individual  than  the 
great  mass  of  modern  literature.  We 
know  the  secret  thoughts,  the  hidden 
processes  of  character,  in  Tito  and  Anna 
Karenina,  even  more  completely  than  if 
these  creations,  become  actual  flesh  and 
blood,  had  attempted  to  give  us  their 
confidence.  The  great  writers  who  have 
drawn  these  masterly  portraits  have  com- 
prehended the  significance  of  the  almost 
imperceptible  stages  by  which  motives 
24 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

and  impulses  are  moved  forward  to  their 
ultimate  issue  in  action,  by  which  charac- 
ter is  advanced  from  its  plastic  to  its  final 
and  permanent  form.  They  have  seen 
that  dramatic  interest  does  not  attach 
exclusivley  to  those  well-defined  cli- 
maxes of  experience  which  we  call  crises, 
but  invests  and  gives  artistic  value  to 
the  whole  movement  of  life ;  that  no 
acts  which  have  moral  or  intellectual 
quality  are  unimportant.  The  peasant 
is  quite  as  interesting  a  figure  to  the  lit- 
erary artist  as  the  king;  has  become,  in 
fact,  far  more  attractive  and  suggestive, 
since  nothing  intervenes  between  him 
and  human  nature  in  its  purest  form. 
Interest  in  the  great  fact  of  life  has  be- 
come so  intense  that  we  are  impatient 
of  all  the  conventions  and  traditions  that 
conceal  it  from  us.  The  novels  to-day 
are  full  of  studies  of  men  and  women  in 
the  most  primitive  conditions  and  rela- 
tions, and  he  must  command  the  very 
highest  resources  of  his  art  who  would 
interest  us  in  a  character  swathed  in  the 

25 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

trappings  of  royalty.  These  things  seem 
tawdry  and  unreal  to  a  generation  that 
has  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  awful  mean- 
ing of  life  as  it  works  out  its  purpose  in 
every  individual  soul.  If  Shakespeare 
were  living  to-day,  his  Lear  might  not 
be  an  uncrowned  king,  but  the  kinsman 
of  that  lonely,  massive  peasant-figure 
whose  essential  and  tragic  dignity  Tour- 
guenieff  has  made  so  impressive  in  "  The 
Lear  of  the  Steppes."  Genius  is  the 
highest  form  of  sympathy ;  and  in  mod- 
ern literature  this  quality  has  made  it 
the  interpreter  of  the  complete  experi- 
ence of  humanity.  It  has  been  irresis- 
tibly drawn  to  that  which  is  lowly  and 
obscure  because  it  has  discerned  in  these 
untrodden  paths  a  beauty  and  a  meaning 
essentially  new  to  men ;  it  has  become 
conscious  of  the  pathetic  contrast  be- 
tween souls  encompassed  with  limita- 
tions and  the  eternal  elements  of  which 
they  are  compounded. 

They  must  be  blind  indeed  who  fail 
to  discover  in  this  attitude  of  literature 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

toward  men  and  women  as  individuals 
a  change  of  thought  as  vital  as  any  that 
ever  has  taken  place  in  history.  The 
commonest  life  is  touched  and  irradiated 
by  this  spirit  of  insight,  and  in  the  low- 
liest as  in  the  most  impressive  person 
and  fact,  an  inexhaustible  significance  is 
discovered.  Literature  has  come  close 
to  life  not  only  in  its  great  historic 
manifestations,  but  in  its  most  familiar 
and  homely  aspects,  and  it  lends  itself 
with  impartial  sympathy  to  the  portrayal 
and  interpretation  of  both.  The  phrase 
whose  novel  appeal  to  a  common  hu- 
manity once  brought  out  the  applause 
of  the  Roman  theatre  is  to-day  written 
as  a  supreme  law  across  all  our  arts. 
Nothing  that  is  human  is  insignificant 
or  without  interest  for  us.  Our  com- 
mon search  is  not  for  theories  of  life,  — 
they  are  all  being  cast  aside  because  they 
are  all  inadequate,  —  but  for  the  facts  of 
life.  There  is  coming  at  last  the  dawn 
of  a  great  and  worthy  thought  of  this 
life  of  ours,  and  the  universe  in  which 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

It  is  set;  and  as  this  thought  clears  It- 
self from  imperfect  knowledge  and  from 
ancient  ignorance,  a  new  reverence  for 
the  humblest  human  soul  is  born  within 
us.  The  expansion  of  man's  conception 
of  the  universe  from  the  time  of  Ptolemy 
to  that  of  Tyndall  has  not  been  greater 
than  the  expansion  of  the  conception  of 
the  meaning  of  life  from  the  thought  of 
the  first  or  the  thirteenth  century  to  that 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  One  result  of 
this  vaster  conception  of  life  is  the  rec- 
ognition of  its  supremacy  over  the  arts. 
They  were  once  ends  in  themselves; 
they  are  now  means  of  expression. 
They  were  once  supreme  and  final 
achievements ;  they  are  now  records  and 
registers  of  that  which  is  greater  than 
they. 

Art  is  the  necessary  and  universal 
quality  of  literature;  it  is  the  presence 
or  absence  of  this  quality  which  elects 
some  books  for  long  life  and  others  for 
the  life  of  a  day.  It  is  the  impalpable 
and  subtile  touch  of  art  which  confers 
38 


Some  Aspects  of  Modern  Literature 

on  a  book,  a  picture,  or  a  statue  that 
longevity  which  we  rashly  call  immor- 
tality. But  as  books  accumulate,  and 
as  the  years  multiply  into  centuries  and 
the  centuries  lengthen  into  epochs,  we 
become  conscious  of  the  impotence  of 
art  itself  to  elude  the  action  of  that 
change  from  a  lower  to  a  higher  form 
which  we  call  death.  There  are  no 
finalities  of  expression ;  life  has  always 
a  new  word  to  utter,  a  new  form  to 
fashion.  The  greatest  cannot  hope  to 
measure  the  complete  span  of  a  single 
age,  much  less  the  span  of  all  history. 
We  shall  not  think  less  of  our  arts,  but 
we  are  coming  to  have  a  new  thought 
about  them.  The  men  who  create  them 
are  greater  than  they  ;  humanity  is  greater 
than  the  sum  of  all  its  achievements  and 
expressions.  Art  must  come  closer  to 
us,  must  be  more  reverent  and  humble, 
must  be  our  servant  and  not  master. 
Literature  is  already  full  of  the  signs 
of  this  change.  It  has  suffered  no  real 
loss  in  the  evolution  through  which  it 
29 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

has  passed  from  a  few  simple  and  im- 
pressive forms  to  an  expression  at  once 
more  flexible  and  of  vastly  increased  vol- 
ume. If  the  great  chords  that  once  vi- 
brated to  an  infrequent  hand  are  now  less 
distinct  and  commanding,  it  is  because 
the  lyre  yields  its  full  harmony  to  the 
passionate  touch  of  life. 


30 


Chapter  II 

Personality  in  Literary  Work 

DR.  JOHNSON  is  probably  the 
best  English  illustration  of  a 
writer  whose  personality  was  so  inade- 
quately expressed  in  his  work,  that  what 
he  was  is  likely  to  obliterate  what  he 
did.  The  man  was  hearty,  simple,  often 
offensively,  always  unaffectedly,  forceful 
and  downright ;  his  work,  on  the  other 
hand,  while  sound  and  wholesome,  is 
formal,  academic,  elaborate,  and  at  times 
highly  artificial.  No  man  spoke  with 
more  resolute  Saxon  bluntness  than  the 
author  of  those  solemn  and  imposing 
essays  in  the  "  Rambler,"  of  whom 
Goldsmith  said  that  if  he  wrote  of  little 
fishes  they  would  all  speak  like  great 
whales.  That  his  pen  was  not  wholly 
devoid  of  the  vigour  which  his  speech 
31 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

uniformly  had,  is  evident  to  every  one 
who  reads  his  letters ;  but  as  a  rule  this 
rugged  strength  is  diffused  and  lost  in  a 
succession  of  well-wrought  phrases  rather 
than  concentrated  on  the  sharp  edge 
of  concise  and  telling  sentences.  It  is 
certainly  no  lack  of  personality  which 
one  feels  in  reading  Johnson  ;  the  Doc- 
tor is  never  far  off  in  those  infrequent 
moments  when  one  takes  up  "Rasselas" 
or  the  "  Rambler ;  "  but  it  is  the  wigged 
and  powdered  professional  man  of  letters 
in  the  wigged  and  powdered  eighteenth 
century,  not  the  big-brained,  big-hearted, 
irascible,  pathetic,  and  unaffectedly  hu- 
man hero  of  Boswell's  immortal  biogra- 
phy. In  the  whole  company  of  English 
writers  from  Chaucer  to  Carlyle  there 
is  no  more  sharply  defined  and  vigor- 
ous personality;  none  more  pronounced, 
more  clearly  shown,  more  easily  under- 
stood. Evidently  the  failure  of  John- 
son's work  to  impress  us  adequately  is 
in  no  sense  due  to  lack  of  individuality 
behind  it ;  the  fact  that  we  are  transfer- 
32 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

ring  our  interest  more  and  more  from 
the  work  to  the  man  shows  clearly 
enough  that  the  man  possessed  qualities 
which  his  work  fails  to  convey.  John- 
son's defect  as  a  writer  lay  in  his  inabil- 
ity to  make  his  voice  distinct;  it  does 
not  ring  clear  in  perfectly  natural  tones. 
When  he  talked,  his  words  were  charged 
with  the  electric  current  of  his  tremen- 
dous personality ;  when  he  wrote,  the 
circuit  was  broken ;  at  some  point  the 
current  escaped  into  the  air,  and  the 
reader  never  receives  any  emotion  or  im- 
pulse approaching  a  shock  in  intensity. 
It  is  probable  that  the  only  saving  qual- 
ity in  Johnson's  work  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  it  helps  us  to  understand  him.  In 
most  cases  we  remember  the  man  be- 
cause of  the  work  he  did  ;  in  Johnson's 
case  we  shall  remember  the  work  because 
of  the  man  who  did  it. 

Shakespeare,  on  the  other  hand,  fur- 
nishes the  best  English  illustration  of  a 
writer   whose   personality  is    completely 
expressed   in  his  work.     The   work  we 
3  33 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

know  by  heart;  of  the  man  we  know 
almost  nothing  in  the  sense  that  we 
know  Dr.  Johnson.  So  slight  and  frag- 
mentary is  our  knowledge  of  the  out- 
ward facts  of  Shakespeare's  life  that  this 
noblest  of  modern  minds  has  furnished 
the  material  for  the  most  fantastic  ex- 
ercise of  arbitrary  inference  known  in 
the  history  of  literature.  If  Shakespeare 
had  had  his  Boswell,  we  might  have 
possessed  an  authoritative  history  of 
"Hamlet"  and  the  "Tempest," — some- 
thing which  would  have  given  us  the 
order  and  sequence  of  these  marvellous 
plays.  They  are  creations,  however,  not 
pieces  of  mechanism;  and  nothing  deeper 
could  be  told  about  them  than  they  re- 
veal themselves.  About  every  great 
work  of  art  there  is  something  myste- 
rious and  inexplicable ;  and  he  who  can 
explain  it  least  is  he  by  whose  hand  it 
was  done.  Shakespeare's  spiritual  auto- 
biography lies  clearly  written  in  his 
work,  although  the  aspect  under  which 
his  contemporaries  knew  him  is  barely 
34 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

hinted  at  there.  Shakespeare's  Boswell 
would  have  been  intensely  interesting; 
we  could  well  have  spared  libraries  of 
commentaries  if  his  single  volume  could 
have  taken  their  place ;  but  he  could 
have  rendered  no  such  service  to  his 
master  or  to  us  as  Johnson's  Boswell 
performed.  Johnson  spoke  from  the 
surface  of  his  nature  when  he  set  hand 
to  paper,  and  the  gleanings  of  Boswell 
were  more  than  the  harvester  gathered ; 
Shakespeare  spoke  from  the  depths  of 
his  nature  and  in  all  the  tones  which 
impart  expression  to  uttered  speech,  and 
a  Boswell  would  have  found  little  unsaid 
that  was  needed  to  the  complete  expres- 
sion of  his  spiritual  nature.  It  would 
have  given  us  deep  satisfaction  to  have 
known  something  of  his  smile,  his  car- 
riage, his  manner  of  speech  and  bearing 
among  his  fellows ;  but  we  know  from 
his  own  report  his  thought  of  human 
life,  encircled  by  mysteries,  swayed  by 
the  winds  of  passion,  calmed  by  the 
weight  of  its  own  destiny ;  and  the  essen- 
35 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

tial  thing  to  be  known  about  any  man  is 
his  thought  about  these  matters. 

These  two  writers  will  serve  to  illus- 
trate a  principle  which  becomes  clearer 
the  more  thoroughly  and  widely  we 
apply  it  to  all  works  which  belong  dis- 
tinctively to  literature:  the  principle 
that  a  man's  work  approaches  the  very 
highest  standard  in  the  degree  in  which 
it  expresses  his  personality,  —  person- 
ality in  the  large  sense  which  includes 
temperament,  quality  of  imagination,  ar- 
tistic sense,  point  of  view,  education, 
and  faculty  of  expression.  The  word 
is  often  used  to  express  what  is  obvious 
and  idiosyncratic  in  a  man's  nature  or 
history ;  and  literary  work  is  sometimes 
said  to  be  full  of  personality  when  it 
is  stamped  with  this  kind  of  individual 
quality.  The  idea  of  personality  im- 
plied in  this  criticism  is  not  false,  but 
it  is  inadequate ;  and  it  becomes  mis- 
leading when  it  is  applied  as  a  test. 
"The  Sorrows  of  Werther,"  "Ober- 
mann,"  and  Rousseau's  "  Confessions'* 
36 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

are  charged  with  an  intensity  of  mood 
or  emotion  which  conveys  a  vivid  im- 
pression of  personality ;  but  the  real 
Goethe  is  to  be  sought  elsewhere  than 
in  the  "  Sorrows  of  Werther,"  —  the 
rounded  and  full  personality  of  the 
man  is  not  only  concealed,  but  mis- 
represented, by  the  momentary  passion 
which  burned  itself  out  in  that  work  of 
his  youth.  These  intense  expressions 
of  critical  moments  in  a  man's  growth, 
these  cries  out  of  the  heart  of  a  passing 
anguish,  are  indeed  charged  with  person- 
ality, but  with  a  personality  limited  in 
time  and  experience  ;  they  are  not  the 
complete  and  harmonious  expression  of 
the  whole  man.  If  we  seek  this,  we 
shall  find  it  not  in  these  passionate  out- 
cries, but  in  the  clear,  strong,  harmonic 
tones  that  convey  the  full  significance 
of  deep,  rich,  masterful  life  and  thought. 
The  personality  of  Byron,  of  Leopardi, 
of  De  Musset,  is  so  obvious,  so  interest- 
ing, so  pungent,  that  their  work  and  the 
work  of  men  of  their  class  seem  like  the 
i7 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

truest  and  deepest  expression  of  the  man 
behind  it ;  its  intensity  makes  the  calm- 
ness and  range  of  the  greatest  writers 
seem  entirely  impersonal.  When,  how- 
ever, we  study  these  larger  and  more 
varied  creations,  we  find  ourselves  in 
the  presence  of  men  whose  restraint  and 
repose  are  significant  not  of  repression, 
but  of  free,  complete,  and  beautiful  self- 
expression'.  It  is  in  Sophocles,  in  Shake- 
speare, in  Moliere,  in  Goethe,  that  we  find 
the  ripest  and  most  powerful  personal- 
ities,—  personalities  that  have  not  rested 
in  simple  transcriptions  of  the  feeling  of 
the  moment,  but  have  made  their  own 
experiences  illustrative  of  universal  law, 
and  in  the  untroubled  surface  of  their 
calm,  deep  natures  have  reflected  the 
whole  moving  image  of  things.  "  Man- 
fred," "The  Robbers,"  and  "Queen 
Mab"  are  not  defective  in  disclosure 
of  personality;  but  in  all  works  of 
their  kind  the  personality  is  either 
limited  in  time  or  in  experience;  it  is 
a  personality  narrow  in  itself  or  imper- 
38 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

fectly  expressed.  If  a  man  is  to  make 
the  most  of  his  materials,  he  must  have 
that  mastery  of  them  which  permits  him 
to  transpose  and  combine  them  at  will, 
which  makes  them  pliant  and  flexible  in 
his  hand.  This  apt  and  varied  skill 
eludes  those  who,  by  the  limitation  of 
their  own  natures  or  the  violence  of 
their  emotions,  are  driven  rather  than 
inspired  by  the  critical  moment  and  ex- 
perience. The  artist  is  most  inspired 
when  his  hand  is  freest  and  surest,  be- 
cause intensity  and  agitation  of  emotion 
have  passed  on  into  depth  and  clearness 
of  vision. 

Personality  in  the  larger  sense  is  to 
be  found  not  in  what  is  strongly  in- 
dividualistic in  temper  and  expression, 
but  in  what  is  distinctive  and  character- 
istic in  a  man's  view  of  life  and  art,  —  in 
his  structural  force  and  genius ;  in  the 
quality  and  direction  of  his  insight;  in 
the  adequacy  and  inevitableness  of  his 
expression.  At  the  very  bottom  of  a 
man's  work  lies  his  thought  of  life, — 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

his  idea  of  the  materials  which  are  at 
hand  and  of  the  use  he  can  make  of 
them ;  and  this  thought  contains  the 
very  essence  of  that  which  makes  the 
man  different  from  all  other  men  who 
have  been  or  shall  be.  For  this 
thought  embodies  everything  that  is 
peculiar  and  distinctive  to  him.  The 
thought  of  a  mature  man  about  life 
and  art  is  the  adjustment  of  the  man's 
self  to  the  world  which  he  finds  about 
him ;  when  he  has  reached  a  conception 
of  the  significance  of  life  and  the  uses  of 
art,  he  has  determined  that  which  is  most 
fundamental  for  himself  and  most  deeply 
and  permanently  definitive  of  his  char- 
acter and  genius.  The  conception  may 
be  primarily  moral,  philosophic,  artistic  ; 
it  may  involve  clear  insight  into  the  lines 
of  right,  of  thought,  or  of  beauty  along 
which  the  universe  is  built ;  whatever  it 
is,  it  determines  the  genius  of  the  man 
and  sets  him  apart  to  express  once  and 
forever  a  thought  which  is  essentially 
his  own.  Centuries  have  passed  since 
40 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

the  first  great  dramatic  poems  were  writ- 
ten ;  and  yet  neither  Job  nor  iEschylus, 
neither  Shakespeare  nor  Moliere,  has 
been  repeated.  Every  dramatist  of  the 
first  order  has  had  a  fundamental  thought 
about  life  which,  expressed  in  his  own 
way,  has  been  in  some  essential  things 
different  from  the  thought  of  all  his 
fellows  ;  and  that  thought  has  contained 
the  very  essence  of  his  personality.  The 
great  writers  speak  not  from  report,  but 
from  personal  knowledge.  They  differ 
from  the  lesser  writers  not  only  in  qual- 
ity of  workmanship,  but  still  more  in  the 
fact  that  they  are  witnesses  of  the  truth 
which  they  express.  They  have  seen 
and  felt ;  therefore  they  speak.  And 
that  which  thus  sees  and  feels  and 
knows  is  the  man's  whole  nature,  not 
observation  only,  nor  thought  only,  nor 
feeling  only.  All  the  faculties,  the  apti- 
tudes, the  sensibilities,  the  experiences 
which  make  us  what  we  are,  are  involved 
in  this  process.  So  that  which  lies  deep- 
est in  a  man,  his  thought  of  the  move- 
4* 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

ment  of  things  in  which  he  finds 
himself,  expresses  completely  and  most 
profoundly  his  personality. 

There  are  some  elements  in  this  per- 
sonality which  we  can  distinguish  and 
trace.  There  are  racial  marks  on  the 
mind  and  temperament  of  every  man ; 
there  are  evident  impressions  of  the  time 
in  which  he  lives,  with  all  its  subtile 
and  interwoven  influences ;  but  however 
keenly  we  distinguish  these  secondary 
qualities,  and  however  acutely  we  analyse 
them,  we  never  uncover  the  secret  of 
personality.  That  is  a  thing  which  is 
primary,  and  cannot  be  resolved  into 
its  elements,  —  a  thing  which  is  vital 
and  cannot  be  comprehended.  We  learn 
more  and  more  of  the  vital  processes, 
but  we  never  overtake  life  itself;  we 
get  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  secret  of 
genius,  but  we  never  lay  our  hand  on 
it.  There  is  something  in  us  that  cometh 
not  by  observation  and  that  escapes  our 
scrutiny ;  and  this  sacred  and  inacces- 
sible thing,  which  the  most  searching 
42 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

science  is  powerless  to  wrest  from  a  man, 
is  what  he  gives  us  in  a  great  piece  of 
art.  Every  great  piece  of  art  expresses 
a  great  thought,  and  in  that  thought  is 
summed  up  the  totality  of  a  man's  nature 
and  life. 

This  thought,  as  has  been  said,  is  not 
primarily  the  result  of  a  conscious  pro- 
cess of  thinking.  It  comes  to  a  man  he 
knows  not  how  ;  in  swift  flashes  of  in- 
telligence, in  the  sudden  illumination  of 
experience,  in  the  long  silence  of  brood- 
ing, under  the  pressure  of  tremendous 
experiences.  It  is  distilled  into  a  man's 
soul  by  the  alchemy  of  living,  —  that 
mysterious  process  by  which,  through 
thought,  emotion,  and  action,  we  attain 
both  knowledge  and  character.  The 
frankest  autobiographies  always  leave  un- 
said the  thing  we  care  most  to  know; 
they  give  us  hints,  side-lights,  pregnant 
suggestions,  but  they  always  leave  a  re- 
siduum of  mystery.  No  man  was  ever 
yet  perfectly  explained  to  his  fellows ; 
and  no  man  ever  will  be.  We  shall 
42 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

know  some  men  far  more  thoroughly 
than  we  know  others,  but  we  shall  never 
know  any  man  completely.  Nor  will 
any  man  ever  attain  complete  self-knowl- 
edge, —  that  kind  of  knowledge  which 
will  disclose  all  the  sources  of  his  power, 
trace  back  every  rivulet  of  influence  to 
its  ancestral  spring,  uncover  all  the  depths 
not  only  of  personal  but  of  inherited  ex- 
perience, make  clear  what  he  receives 
from  his  own  time,  and  mark  that  which 
is  distinctively  his  own  ;  that  residuum 
which  neither  time,  race,  nor  circum- 
stances account  for.  In  every  soul,  as 
in  every  life,  there  is  something  solitary 
and  incommunicable,  —  a  holy  of  holies 
upon  which  the  veil  is  never  lifted.  It 
is  written  that  no  man  can  see  God  and 
live;  and  there  is  something  divine  in 
us  upon  which  we  are  not  suflfered  to 
look.  It  is  this  mysterious  and  essential 
personality,  modified  in  expression  by 
the  temporary  elements  of  place  and 
age,  but  fundamentally  apart  from  and 
independent  of  them,  which  inspires 
44 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

and  gives  form  to  every  great  work  of 
art;  so  that  there  is  in  every  master- 
piece something  inexplicable, — something 
which  cannot  be  referred  to  anything 
anterior ;  something,  in  a  word,  which 
we  call  creative  because  we  cannot  ac- 
count for  it  in  any  other  way.  An  im- 
itative work  discloses  its  parentage;  a 
creative  work  stands  apart  and  remains 
mute  when  we  question  its  ancestry.  It 
is  surrounded  by  the  same  mystery 
which  enfolds  every  birth,  which  at- 
taches to  everything  that  is  born,  not 
made. 

The  work  is  mysterious  even  to  its 
creator.  "The  soul,"  says  Calvert, 
"  while  laying  the  foundations  of  great- 
ness, keeps  its  own  counsel ;  and  what 
it  has  been  doing  and  preparing  is  only 
revealed  by  the  completed  work."  It 
is  a  very  suggestive  fact  that  Goethe 
could  never  explain  many  things  in 
**  Faust."  They  were  there,  and  that 
was  about  the  substance  of  his  knowl- 
edge of  them.  Few  literary  works  have 
45 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

been  so  long  in  hand,  have  been  so  often 
taken  up  and  laid  aside,  have  received 
such  constant  and  long-continued  re- 
vision. Of  the  outward  history  of  few 
poems  do  we  know  so  much  ;  and  yet 
there  was  much  in  it  which  Goethe  con- 
fessed himself  unable  to  account  for. 
The  origin  of  the  work  itself  was  as 
mysterious  to  him  as  to  every  one  else. 
It  is  easy  enough  to  indicate  the  sources 
of  the  legend  and  of  many  of  the  inci- 
dents woven  into  it ;  but  what  ajffinity 
lodged  this  seed  in  the  soil  of  his  nature, 
what  were  the  stages  by  which  it  sank 
deep  into  his  soul  and  became  so  thor- 
oughly part  of  himself  that  it  came  forth 
from  his  brain  not  only  refashioned,  am- 
plified, harmonised  with  itself  in  artistic 
consistency,  but  pervaded  by  a  soul  which 
made  it  significant  of  profound  and  uni- 
versal truth ?  "I  can  truly  say  of  my 
production,"  said  Goethe,  referring  to 
his  drama  of  "  Tasso,"  "  it  is  bone  of 
my  bone  and  flesh  of  my  flesh.  .  .  .  They 
come  and  ask  what  idea  I  meant  to  em- 
46 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

body  in  my  *  Faust/  as  if  I  knew  myself 
and  could  inform  them."  For  more 
than  sixty  years  the  drama  was  on  his 
mind ;  and  yet  he  tells  us  that  the  whole 
poem  rose  before  him  at  once  when  it 
first  touched  his  imagination.  He  often 
spoke  of  the  progress  of  the  work  ;  there 
are,  indeed,  few  works  of  art  concerning 
the  shaping  and  evolution  of  which  we 
possess  such  full  and  trustworthy  in- 
formation ;  and  yet  of  the  first  contact 
between  the  idea  and  his  own  soul,  all 
he  can  tell  us  is  that  it  was  suddenly  and 
completely  disclosed  to  his  imagination. 
His  inability  to  explain  it  was  not  due 
to  lack  of  an  underlying  motive  or  to 
vagueness  and  obscurity  of  idea,  but  to 
the  fact  that  he  did  not  consciously 
originate  it;  it  came  to  him,  and  he 
gave  it  form.  The  story  of  Goethe's 
masterpiece  is  the  story  of  every  master- 
piece ;  there  are  interesting  facts  in  every 
such  story,  but  the  essential  fact,  the 
fact  that  would  have  explained  the  work, 
is  always  missing ;  no  man  can  furnish 
47 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

it,  because  no  man's  knowledge  has 
ever  compassed  it.  Every  such  work 
is  the  expression  of  a  man's  personality ; 
and  personality  is  a  primary  and  un- 
resolvable  force  in  the  world. 

Through  the  alembic  of  personality 
pass  all  the  ideas  which  appear  in  art; 
detached  from  a  personality,  an  idea 
may  appear  as  science  or  philosophy, 
but  it  never  can  appear  as  art.  It  is 
this  truth  which  Mr.  James  hints  at  when 
he  says  that  art  is  mainly  a  point  of  view ; 
it  is  that  and  as  much  more  as  one  brings 
to  the  point  of  view.  Whipple  had  the 
same  truth  in  mind  when  he  said  that 
"  the  measure  of  a  man's  individuality  is 
his  creative  power ;  and  all  that  Shake- 
speare created  he  individually  included." 
In  order  to  show  Romeo  the  prey  of  a 
consuming  passion,  Shakespeare  must 
have  felt  the  possible  heat  of  a  kindred 
flame ;  in  order  to  portray  Hamlet  bend- 
ing beneath  the  awful  mystery  of  life 
and  thought,  Shakespeare  must  have 
felt  the  danger  of  a  similar  loss  of  ad- 
48 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

justment  between  meditation  and  action  ; 
in  order  to  picture  Antony  casting  a 
world  away,  he  must  have  known  the 
power  of  such  a  spell  as  that  woven  on 
the  banks  of  the  Nile.  These  experi- 
ences may  not  have  been  actual  in  the 
life  of  the  dramatist,  but  they  must  all 
have  been  possible.  They  form  the  uni- 
versal element  in  which  he  works,  and 
they  are  transformed  into  art  by  passing 
through  an  artist's  personality.  No  two 
men  ever  saw  the  same  rainbow,  because 
no  two  men  ever  looked  at  a  rainbow 
from  the  same  point  of  view  ;  life  was 
never  the  same  to  any  two  human  hearts, 
and,  in  the  nature  of  things,  never  can 
be.  jiEschylus  will  discern  in  it  a  vast- 
ness  and  mystery  which  will  escape  the 
beautiful  but  distinctively  Greek  mind  of 
Sophocles ;  Marlowe  will  find  in  it  a 
violence  and  excess  which  will  fall  below 
the  luminous  horizon  of  Shakespeare's 
mind ;  Corneille  will  discover  in  it  a 
rigid  and  stately  order,  which  in  the 
vital  and  mobile  mind  of  Moliere  will 
4  49 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

give  place  to  a  more  real  and  vivid  per- 
ception of  individual  characteristics. 

The  rank  of  a  writer  rests  in  the  last 
analysis  on  the  distinctness  and  individu- 
ality of  his  thought  and  of  the  form 
which  it  takes  ;  and  the  fiiUer  and  more 
complete  the  personality  of  the  man,  the 
more  powerful  and  varied  will  be  the 
work  of  his  hand.  A  limited  experience 
and  restricted  insight,  like  Gray's,  mean 
a  work  which,  despite  its  supreme  qual- 
ity, is  seen  to  lie  within  narrow  confines  ; 
a  rich  experience,  a  broad  insight,  a  limit- 
less intellectual  sympathy,  like  Brown- 
ing's, necessarily  imply  a  vast  range  of 
expression,  a  creation  adequate  in  scope 
and  variety  to  the  force  of  the  creative 
impulse.  If  this  power  of  seeing,  this 
swift  capacity  of  entering  into  all  life, 
reaches  its  highest  development,  we  have 
a  Dante  compassing  a  whole  epoch  of 
history  with  his  thought,  or  a  Shake- 
speare speaking  out  of  the  heart  of  entire 
humanity.  They  have  seen ;  they  know ; 
therefore  they  speak. 
SO 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  universal 
literature  in  the  sense  which  involves 
complete  escape  from  all  the  water-marks 
of  place  and  time.  An  expression  of 
thought  thus  detached  would  be  without 
structural  order  and  harmony,  without 
colour,  atmosphere,  style;  would  cease 
to  be  literature,  and  become  philosophy. 
The  star  does  not  lose  the  majesty  of  its 
movement  or  the  splendour  of  its  aspect 
because,  if  we  observe  it  at  all,  we  must 
observe  it  from  some  infinitesimally 
small  point  of  earth.  No  man  can  study 
or  interpret  life  save  from  the  point  of 
view  where  he  finds  himself;  and  the 
range  and  beauty  of  vision  which  he 
discerns  depend  upon  the  clearness  and 
range  of  his  sight.  In  the  deepest  sense 
there  are  no  abstract  truths,  no  worlds 
swinging  in  invisible  space ;  that  only 
exists  for  us  at  any  given  time  which  in 
some  way  reaches  and  touches  us,  in 
some  way  penetrates  and  affects  us.  No 
truth  gets  into  human  keeping  by  any 
other  path  than  the  individual  soul,  nor 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

into  human  speech  by  any  other  medium 
than  the  individual  mind.  The  univer- 
sal element  in  literature  lies  not  in  its 
detachment  from  personality,  in  its  sepa- 
ration from  the  peculiarities  of  age,  place, 
and  person,  but  in  the  completeness 
and  power  with  which  it  expresses  these 
things,  —  for  all  things  partake  of  the 
universal,  and  we  have  only  to  pierce  the 
special  and  particular  deep  enough,  and 
we  shall  find  it.  It  is  the  function  of 
literature  to  portray  and  interpret  those 
things  which  all  men  understand  because 
they  are  shared  by  all  men ;  but  both  in 
portrayal  and  interpretation  it  is  the 
presence  of  the  art  quality  which  makes 
the  work  literature ;  and  this  quality  is 
always  imparted  by  personality.  Detach 
the  truth  embodied  in  "  Hamlet "  from 
the  dramatic  form  in  which  it  is  cast,  and 
there  remains  a  series  of  aphorisms  or 
comments  upon  character  and  life;  the 
truth  thus  expressed  is  not  less  true 
because  it  has  changed  its  form,  but  it 
has  ceased  to  be  literature. 
5« 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

Every  work  of  art  has  an  interior 
order  or  architecture  which  in  any  analy- 
sis is  hardly  less  important  or  significant 
than  the  leading  conception  or  idea 
which  it  conveys.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
it  is  impossible  to  separate  the  two ; 
in  any  true  work  of  art  they  are  so  per- 
fectly fused  and  blended  that  they  are 
no  longer  separable.  When  we  have 
detached  the  thought  of  "  Pippa  Passes  " 
or  "  In  Memoriam "  from  its  organic 
sequence  in  the  poem,  we  have  destroyed 
the  poem.  The  division  is  impossible, 
because  it  does  not  exist  in  the  work  ; 
and  yet,  as  a  matter  of  convenience  and 
in  aid  of  clearness  of  thought,  arbitrary 
and  artificial  distinctions  may  be  used  to 
advantage.  The  structural  quality  of  a 
work  is  something  much  more  essential 
than  the  outward  form  which  determines 
the  department  of  literature  to  which  it 
belongs.  The  form  is  part  of  it,  but 
part  only.  The  structural  quality  of  the 
"Divine  Comedy"  is  the  very  substance 
of  the  poem ;  it  is  that  which  gives  it  its 
53 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

unique  place  and  value.  Dante  had  a 
clear,  profound,  and  spiritual  conception 
of  the  soul  of  man  in  the  vast  experi- 
ence of  life.  If  he  had  been  a  philoso- 
pher only  or  distinctively,  he  would  have 
written  a  system  of  theology  ;  but  he 
was  a  poet  of  supreme  insight  and  force. 
He  did  not  meditate  upon  abstractions  ; 
he  saw  the  soul  of  man  in  all  the  mani- 
fold stages  of  its  experience ;  it  was  not 
the  thought  which  he  pursued,  it  was  the 
soul  with  which  he  walked  in  all  the 
length  of  its  awful  journeying.  He  did 
not  philosophise  about  punishment;  he 
breathed  the  very  air  and  was  blown 
upon  by  the  very  flames  of  hell.  He  did 
not  theorise  about  purification ;  he  heard 
the  groans  and  felt  the  hot  and  bitter 
tears  of  purgatory.  He  did  not  dream 
about  the  rewards  of  righteousness  and 
the  blessedness  of  the  good  ;  he  heard 
the  ineffable  strains,  and  covered  his  face 
in  the  glory  of  Paradise.  The  great 
conception  was  not  first  a  system  of 
thought  and  then  a  sublime  dramatic  cre- 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

ation;  long  purposed,  sternly  executed, 
it  was  never  other  than  a  complete  and 
consuming  vision  of  humanity  under  the 
conditions  of  eternity,  —  when  penalty 
does  not  follow,  but  is  part  of  sin  ;  when 
result  does  not  pursue  but  accompanies 
act;  when  reward  and  retribution  are 
realised  at  the  same  instant  within  and 
without  the  soul.  That  which  Dante 
saw  was  concrete  and  indivisible;  It  did 
not  come  to  him  In  parts,  although  It 
grew  into  proportion  and  harmony  In  his 
mind ;  he  did  not  put  it  together  as  a 
piece  of  mechanism,  fitting  thought  to 
expression  and  matching  the  great  inspir- 
ing idea  with  a  majestic  epic  form.  In 
such  a  work  of  art  there  Is  no  separation 
of  soul  and  body  ;  a  thing  of  Immortality 
has  no  perishable  part.  It  comes,  an  in- 
divisible, indestructible  creation,  from  the 
soul  of  the  artist ;  no  sound  of  hammer 
was  heard  in  the  making  of  It,  —  for, 
like  all  great  products  of  the  imagina- 
tion. It  was  a  creation  and  a  growth, 
not  a  mechanism  and  a  manufacture. 
55 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

Another  poet  of  Dante's  genius,  dealing 
with  the  same  theme,  would  have  given 
us  a  different  poem,  because  he  would 
have  conceived  of  it  in  a  different  way ; 
and  a  difference  of  construction  would 
have  involved  a  difference  of  idea.  If 
one  may  venture  upon  philosophic  terms, 
the  moment  the  idea  shapes  itself,  har- 
monises itself,  becomes  organic  and  con- 
crete instead  of  abstract,  the  structural 
element  enters  into  the  process.  The 
work  passes  through  the  pre-natal  stages 
before  it  is  born  in  the  artist's  mind  ;  it 
is  fashioned  in  that  sublime  mystery 
which  lies  behind  all  birth.  Shall  it  be 
epic,  lyric,  or  drama?  is  a  question  which 
the  poet  is  never  asked.  It  is  already 
one  or  the  other  of  these  before  it  is  dis- 
closed to  him.  By  the  structure  of  a 
great  literary  work  is  meant,  therefore, 
something  very  different  from  its  mere 
form,  —  something  which  is  of  the  very 
heart  and  soul  of  the  work ;  that  which 
brings  it  out  of  the  region  of  abstraction 
into  the  world  of  human  perception  and 
56 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

thought ;  that  by  which  the  ideal  enters 
into  and  becomes  a  part  of  the  real. 

This  structural  element  is  discovered, 
appropriated,  or  furnished  by  the  imagi- 
nation,—  the  one  creative  faculty  we 
possess,  and  the  "  master  light  of  all  our 
seeing."  The  more  closely  we  study 
human  knowledge  and  thought,  the  more 
clearly  do  we  perceive  that  this  word 
"  imagination "  has  more  compass  and 
depth  of  meaning  than  any  other  word 
which  we  apply  to  our  faculties.  It  in- 
cludes all  that  we  possess  of  constructive 
power,  —  the  power  of  holding  masses  of 
facts  so  firmly  and  continuously  in  the 
field  of  vision  as  to  enable  us  to  discover 
their  unity  and  the  laws  which  govern 
them  ;  in  other  words,  science,  —  the 
power  of  seeing  the  permanent  in  the 
transitory,  the  universal  in  the  particular ; 
in  other  words,  philosophy,  —  the  power 
of  perceiving  and  realising  the  soul  of 
things  visible,  and  out  of  the  real  con- 
structing the  ideal ;  in  other  words,  art, 
—  the  power  of  discerning  the  spiritual 
57  "     ■ 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

behind  the  material,  the  creator  behind 
the  creation ;  in  other  words,  religion. 
Wherever  and  whenever  life  becomes 
great  and  the  world  real  to  us,  the  imagi- 
nation holds  aloft  its  quenchless  torch. 
In  every  hour  when  a  new  truth  moves 
back  a  little  the  horizon  of  thought,  or 
a  new  birth  of  beauty  expands  a  little  the 
world  of  art,  the  imagination  is  present. 
"I  assert  for  myself,"  said  William  Blake, 
**  that  I  do  not  behold  the  outward  crea- 
tion, and  that  to  me  it  would  be  a  hin- 
drance and  not  action.  I  question  not 
my  corporeal  eye  any  more  than  I  would 
question  a  window  concerning  a  sight. 
I  look  through  it,  and  not  with  it."  It 
is  to  the  imagination  alone  that  second 
sight  belongs,  —  that  sight  which  does 
not  rest  in  obvious  and  material  things, 
but  through  them,  as  through  an  open 
window,  perceives  another  and  diviner 
order  of  creation.  Thus  the  imagination 
fulfils  for  the  soul  the  double  function  of 
seeing  and  interpreting,  of  discovering 
and  possessing. 

S8 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

But  the  imagination  is  not  simply  or 
mainly  an  organ  of  vision  ;  it  is  a  hand 
even  more  than  an  eye,  and  a  hand  which 
moves  to  the  impulse  of  inspiration.  It 
was  the  imagination  which  discovered  the 
beauty  of  the  world  to  the  earliest  men, 
and  it  was  the  imagination  which  peopled 
it  with  the  antique  gods ;  in  the  history 
of  art  seeing  and  creating  have  never 
been  dissevered.  It  is  by  the  activity  of 
the  imagination  that  we  possess  those 
masterpieces  which,  if  they  fail  to  convey 
all  that  the  ideal  contains,  define  for  us 
the  laws  of  beauty  and  fix  the  standards 
of  supreme  excellence.  If  they  cannot 
bring  perfection  within  the  range  of  our 
senses,  they  fail  not  to  bring  it  within  the 
reach  of  our  souls.  Now,  the  imagina- 
tion which  perceives  the  idea  under  some 
inevitable  structural  form  is  not  less  dis- 
tinctive and  individual  than  is  that  mys- 
terious personality  which  makes  a  man 
what  he  is,  as  different  from  all  other 
men.  This  personality  determines  the 
idea  that  becomes  the  germ  of  a  great 
59 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

creative  work ;  determines  that  the  story 
of  Prometheus  shall  belong  to  iEschylus, 
and  the  story  of  Faust  to  Goethe,  and 
the  conception  of  TartufFe  to  Moliere; 
but  it  is  the  imagination  which  opens  the 
personality  to  the  idea,  and  by  placing  it 
in  relation  with  the  visible  and  actual, 
brings  the  material  within  reach  of  the 
shaping  hand.  What  interior  structure 
the  idea  shall  have,  how  it  shall  be  shaped, 
where  unite  with  and  where  depart  from 
that  which  art  has  already  achieved,  de- 
pends on  the  individual  imagination. 
Faust  will  be  one  thing  to  Marlowe  and 
an  entirely  different  thing  to  Goethe,  the 
dominant  idea  remaining  the  same;  and 
when  we  study  the  differences  of  structure 
and  treatment  between  the  two  dramas, 
we  perceive  that  we  are  studying  the  dif- 
ferences between  the  two  poets.  Between 
Voltaire's  thought  of  Jean  d' Arc  in  "  La 
Pucelle "  and  the  vision  on  the  canvas 
of  Bastien- Lepage,  what  an  almost  meas- 
ureless divergence  of  personality  is  ex- 
pressed !  If  the  masters  of  creative 
60 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

literature  are  studied  by  the  comparative 
method,  nothing  is  more  striking  than 
the  differences  which  exist  between  them 
in  quahty  and  force  of  imagination ;  and 
it  is  such  study  which  enables  us  to 
understand  that  the  imagination  is  the 
creative  faculty. 

It  is  only  the  most  superficial  think- 
ing which  fails  to  perceive  that  style  is 
no  less  integral,  essential,  and  inevitable 
than  inspiring  idea,  structural  form,  or 
force  and  quality  of  imagination.  It  is 
obvious  that  the  style  of  a  writer  is  not 
uninfluenced  by  his  age :  compare  the 
prose  of  Sir  Thomas  Malory  with  that 
of  Milton,  that  of  Fuller  with  that  of 
Addison,  that  of  Johnson  with  that  of 
Ruskin  or  Newman,  and  the  presence 
of  a  process  of  development  is  unmistak- 
able. It  is  obvious  also  that  a  writer, 
by  that  rigid  discipline  which  is  the  con- 
dition of  all  artistic  excellence,  may 
expand  and  even  radically  change  his 
style.  Nevertheless,  it  remains  true  that 
the  style  of  a  genuine  writer  is  in 
6i 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

the  deepest  sense  inevitable,  and  that  all 
his  conscious  effort  has  not  fashioned, 
but  found  it.  It  was  already  existent, 
to  borrow  the  idea  of  one  of  the  masters 
of  style,  Flaubert ;  and  the  whole  edu- 
cation of  the  man  in  the  secrets  of  his 
art  has  been  an  endeavour  to  bring  to- 
gether two  things  which  are  parts  of  one 
whole.  "  Possessed,"  says  a  critic  of 
the  author  of  "  Madame  Bovary,"  "  of 
an  absolute  belief  that  there  exists  but 
one  way  of  expressing  one  thing,  one 
word  to  call  it  by,  one  adjective  to 
qualify,  one  verb  to  animate  it,  he  gave 
himself  to  superhuman  labour  for  the 
discovery,  in  every  phrase,  of  that  word> 
that  verb,  that  epithet.  In  this  way  he 
believed  in  some  mysterious  harmony  of 
expression,  and  when  a  true  word  seemed 
to  him  to  lack  euphony,  still  went  on 
seeking  another  with  invincible  patience, 
certain  that  he  had  not  yet  got  hold  of 
the  unique  word.  ...  A  thousand  pre- 
occupations   would    beset    him    at   the 

same    moment,   always    with    this   des- 
62 


Addison. 


,-iZ^\ 


Addison. 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

perate  certitude  fixed  in  his  spirit, — 
among  all  the  expressions  in  the  world, 
all  forms  and  terms  of  expression,  there 
is  but  one  —  one  form,  one  mode  —  to 
express  what  I  want  to  say."  There  is 
no  paradox  in  all  this ;  for  while  style  is 
an  end  which  may  be  consciously  worked 
for,  it  is  also  and  always,  whenever  it 
reaches  the  highest  level  of  art,  a  full, 
free,  and  powerful  expression  of  per- 
sonality, and  as  such  it  was  determined 
for  the  man  in  the  hour  in  which  his  per- 
sonality was  compounded.  The  search 
for  style  is  therefore  never  a  search  for 
something  artificial,  something  so  distinct 
from  the  searcher  that  he  may  choose 
among  several,  rejecting  one  and  accept- 
ing another;  it  is  always  the  effort  to 
attain  complete  self-expression.  Some 
writers  never  find  their  true  style,  and 
failing  of  genuine  self-expression,  soon 
pass  into  oblivion ;  but  genius  never 
misses  its   vocabulary. 

A  genuine  literary  artist  never  uses 
words  which  are  merely  ornamental  and 
63 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

therefore  extraneous  ;  his  phrase  contains 
neither  more  nor  less  than  his  thought ; 
when  it  fails  either  by  surplusage  or  by- 
suppression,  it  falls  short  of  that  perfect 
art  which  is  the  instant  and  final  identi- 
fication of  truth  and  beauty.  The  artist 
is  known,  as  Schiller  said,  by  what  he 
omits  quite  as  much  as  by  what  he  in- 
cludes. "  For  in  truth  all  art  does  but 
consist  in  the  removal  of  surplusage, 
from  the  last  finish  of  the  gem  engraver 
blowing  away  the  last  particle  of  invis- 
ible dust,  back  to  the  earliest  divi- 
nation of  the  finished  work  to  be,  lying 
somewhere,  according  to  Michelangelo's 
fancy,  in  the  rough-hewn  block  of  stone." 
The  artist  has  no  tricks,  devices,  or 
artifices ;  the  secret  of  his  workmanship 
is  not  mechanical,  but  original  and  vital, 
and  so  completely  his  own  that  it  cannot 
be  detached  from  him  even  in  thought. 
When  we  speak  of  style  in  connection 
with  the  masters  of  literary  form, — 
with  Shakespeare,  with  Keats,  with  Ten- 
nyson, with  Hawthorne,  with  Arnold, — 
64 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

we  become  conscious  that  we  are  speak- 
ing of  something  not  only  obviously 
beautiful,  but  mysteriously  and  inexpli- 
cably personal ;  som  ething  which,  although 
visible  and  tangible,  partakes  so  largely 
of  the  invisible  soul  that  it  escapes  our 
analysis.  Style  is  not  only  the  quality 
which  defines  a  creation  as  belonging  to 
art,  but  which,  more  than  any  other 
which  we  can  discover,  is  most  subtly 
and  comprehensively  expressive  of  per- 
sonality. In  it,  as  in  a  medium  so  deli- 
cate that  it  responds  to  the  lightest  touch, 
so  stable  that  it  retains  the  most  power- 
ful impression,  we  discover  the  compass 
and  resources  of  a  man's  soul ;  here  he 
reflects  himself  as  in  a  mirror,  not  only 
with  conscious  purpose,  but  with  that 
deep  unconsciousness  the  perpetual  rev- 
elation of  which  is  the  deepest  inlet  of 
truth  into  this  world  of  ours. 

Dante  was  the   first  of  the    modern 

poets  in  time  as  well  as  in  depth   and 

power  ;  and  if  we  seek  for  the  reason  of 

his  primacy  in  order  of  literary  develop- 

S  6s 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

ment,  we  shall  find  it  in  his  own  work. 
The  poets  before  him  had  no  clear 
thought  of  themselves;  they  were  men  not 
so  much  of  defective  as  of  undeveloped 
personality.  They  were  bound  by  tra- 
ditions, circumscribed  by  external  condi- 
tions, ignorant  of  the  authority  and  the 
resources  of  their  own  souls.  They  could 
not  trust  their  intuitions  and  depend 
upon  their  own  skill,  because  they  did 
not  know  what  was  within  them.  They 
belonged  to  that  dim  mediaeval  world 
so  long  under  a  spell  which  lulled  the 
personality  of  men  into  a  deep  sleep. 
That  sleep  was  not  without  splendid 
dreams  and  heavenly  visions,  but  there 
was  no  deep  and  vital  sense  of  reality. 
Dante  was  the  first  to  awaken  from  this 
sleep.  There  is  no  more  vigorous  per- 
sonality in  history  than  that  of  this  van- 
ished Florentine,  who,  loving  Florence, 
could  live  apart  from  her ;  saturated  with 
the  scholarship  of  his  time,  could  look 
upon  the  world  with  his  own  eyes,  and 
substitute  his  own  mother  tongue  for  the 
66 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

conventional  Latin ;  loyal  to  the  Church, 
could  write  the  doom  of  popes  and 
priests  with  unfaltering  hand.  If  one 
reads  carefully,  he  will  find  in  the  "  Vita 
Nuova"  the  autobiography  of  the  first 
great  modern  personality,  —  the  man 
who  turned  from  the  outer  to  the  inner 
world  for  truth,  who  gained  complete 
consciousness  of  the  mighty  force  within 
his  own  nature,  and  used  it  with  absolute 
freedom.  He  was  the  first  poet  because 
he  was  the  first  artist ;  and  the  secret  of 
his  mastery  of  art  lay  in  the  fact  that  he 
attained  full  self-consciousness.  For  two 
centuries  and  a  half  Italy  was  crowded 
with  brilliant  figures,  —  men  who  used 
all  the  arts  with  a  freedom  and  force 
which  have  enriched  the  world  for  all 
time.  The  secret  of  this  protracted  and 
splendid  productiveness  lies  in  the  tre- 
mendous force  of  personality  which  was 
liberated  by  the  Renaissance,  —  a  force 
which  sought  expression  through  every 
form  of  creative  energy  and  through 
every  social  activity. 
67 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

In  France  the  same  outbreak  of  per- 
sonal force  appears  in  the  early  part  of 
the  long  reign  of  Louis  XIV. ;  when  the 
impulse  and  aspiration  of  youth  and 
hope  were  in  the  air,  before  prolonged 
absolutism,  exhausting  campaigns,  and 
the  barrenness  of  selfish  and  superficial 
ideals  drained  the  national  life  and 
blighted  the  national  imagination.  In 
the  England  of  Elizabeth  there  was  a 
liberation  of  personal  force  such  as  no 
other  country  has  ever  seen  at  a  sin- 
gle period.  Many  of  the  Elizabethan 
dramatists  impress  one  as  being  under 
a  demoniac  spell ;  they  are  torn  and  de- 
stroyed by  their  own  emotions  ,  a  titanic 
rage  possesses  them,  and,  like  Marlowe, 
they  push  life  beyond  all  bounds  in  the 
desperate  effort  to  compass  the  illimit- 
able and  perform  the  impossible.  They 
fail  through  excess  of  force  not  yet 
turned  into  power.  They  had  come  to 
the  consciousness  of  personality,  but  not 
to  the  calmness  of  self-mastery.  Shake- 
speare came  at  the  very  moment  when 
6S 


Personality  in  Literary  Work 

the  ferment  in  the  blood  was  over,  and 
men,  no  longer  blinded  by  a  sudden  ac- 
cess of  strength,  could  measure  intelli- 
gently the  force  of  personality  and  the 
strength  of  the  external  forces  which  con- 
dition human  achievement  and  expres- 
sion. Shakespeare  had  all  of  Marlowe's 
force,  but  he  had  also  clear  understanding 
of  the  material  in  which  he  had  to  work. 
He  had  arrived  at  full  self-knowledge ; 
and,  therefore,  of  all  men  of  his  time,  per- 
haps of  all  time,  his  personality  had  freest 
and  most  complete  expression.  Toward 
the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century  a  sim- 
ilar liberation  of  personal  force  was  seen 
in  Germany,  where  a  group  of  great  minds 
appeared,  divided  by  differenct  of  gifts 
and  divergence  of  situation,  but  harmo- 
nious in  this :  that  each,  following  boldly 
the  lead  of  his  own  genius,  discovered 
the  two  or  three  great  principles  which 
shape  and  direct  modern  thought. 

These  illustrations  will  serve  to  bring 
out  the  fact  that  great  literature  is  pos- 
sible only  when  there  are  great  person- 
69 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

alities  to  create  it.  On  the  one  hand,  a 
great  writer  puts  into  his  work  that  which 
is  pecuHar  to  his  own  nature,  and  makes 
it  an  expression  of  his  deepest  and  most 
hidden  self;  on  the  other  hand,  Hterature 
depends  for  its  enlargement  and  expan- 
sion on  the  appearance  of  men  of  great 
and  deep  personality.  Until  the  idea 
of  personality  is  developed  and  becomes 
general,  the  creation  of  literature  is  im- 
possible. Races  which  are  defective  in 
the  sense  of  personality  are  incapable 
of  large  and  varied  literary  production ; 
races  in  which  this  sense  becomes  most 
keen  and  general  inevitably  turn  to  art. 
Self-expression  is  a  necessity  when  the 
sense  of  self  becomes  deep,  rich,  and 
powerful ;  when  all  life  awakes  to  con- 
sciousness through  it,  and  the  world  lies 
reflected  in  it  as  the  summer  night  in 
the  sea  that  moves  through  it  hushed 
and  calmed  as  with  the  deep  pulsation 
of  the  universe. 


70 


Chapter  III 

The  Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

IN  his  essay  on  "  The  Study  of 
Poetry,"  Mr.  Arnold  warns  us 
against  permitting  the  true  estimate  of 
poetry  to  be  superseded  by  the  historical 
estimate  or  the  personal  estimate.  The 
final  test  of  poetry  is  neither  its  relation 
to  the  development  of  a  nation's  lan- 
guage and  thought,  nor  its  interest  and 
importance  to  us  by  reason  of  its  affinity 
with  our  personal  tastes  and  experiences, 
but  the  soundness  of  its  substance  and 
perfection  of  its  form.  This  statement 
may  be  so  extended  in  its  application 
as  to  make  it  inclusive  of  all  literature. 
In  the  nature  of  things,  the  highest  test 
can  be  neither  historic  nor  personal,  but 
must  be  universal,  —  a  test,  that  is, 
which  involves  primarily  truth  neither 
to  historic  nor  to  personal  relations,  but 
71 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

truth  to  something  common  to  all  men 
in  whom  the  Hterary  instinct  has  found 
normal  development.  When  the  high- 
est court  in  Christendom  —  the  con- 
sensus of  the  educated  opinion  of  the 
world  —  assigns  their  relative  places  to 
the  great  writers,  this  supreme  test  must 
always  be  applied ;  but  it  is  only  on  rare 
occasions  that  this  supreme  tribunal  pro- 
nounces judgment.  Writers  of  world- 
wide import,  whose  work  sustains  the 
application  of  the  very  highest  test,  do 
not  come  to  the  judgment-seat  of  this 
high  tribunal  oftener  than  four  or  five 
times  in  a  century.  For  the  most  part, 
it  is  with  the  men  whose  inferiority  to 
Homer  and  Dante,  to  Shakespeare  and 
Milton,  is  clearly  apparent  that  criticism 
concerns  itself.  These  illustrious  shades 
have  received  but  a  single  comrade  into 
their  immortal  fellowship  during  the 
present  century.  Below  these  foremost 
names  there  are  written  those  of  a  noble 
company  who,  if  they  have  failed  of  the 
highest  places,  have  come  near  the  shin- 
72 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

ing  goal ;  and  it  is  with  these  that  criti- 
cism chiefly  concerns  itself. 

The  supreme  test  separated  from  all 
other  tests  is  rarely  applied ;  the  su- 
preme test  associated  with  other  and 
lesser  tests  is  in  constant  use.  Litera- 
ture is  an  art,  and  therefore  submits  it- 
self to  the  law  of  beauty  which  supplies 
the  test  of  art ;  but  it  is  also  a  revelation 
of  the  spirit  of  man,  and  there  is  to  be 
found  in  it  something  more  than  the 
perfect  felicity  and  unbroken  serenity  of 
the  most  finely  tempered  souls.  The 
buoyancy  of  Homer  is  one  of  our  great 
possessions ;  but  there  is  something  to 
be  learned  also  from  the  despondency  of 
Leopardi.  The  mastery  of  Shakespeare 
over  all  the  materials  of  his  work  is  in- 
spiring; but  there  is  something  signifi- 
cant also  in  the  turbulence  of  Byron. 
The  amplitude  of  culture  opens  the 
heart  of  the  modern  world  in  Goethe ; 
but  the  provincial  sincerity  of  Mistral 
has  something  to  teach  us.  Dante's 
majestic  strength  makes  us  feel  the  iden- 
73 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

tity  of  great  living  and  great  art;  but 
there  is  something  for  us  in  the  pathetic 
felicity  of  De  Musset  and  the  often 
unavailing  beauty  of  Shelley.  In  each 
writer  of  any  force  and  genius  there  is 
not  only  the  element  which  makes  him 
amenable  to  the  highest  law  of  criticism, 
there  is  also  something  which  appeals  to 
our  individual  consciousness  and  is  dis- 
tinctly personal,  —  something  which  is 
the  impress  of  the  inheritance  and  larger 
circumstance  of  the  time,  and  is  there- 
fore historic,  and  something  which  lets 
us  into  the  soul  of  a  generation  of  men, 
or  of  a  period  of  time  or  of  a  deep 
movement  of  faith  and  thought.  A 
great  piece  of  literature  may  be  studied 
from  each  of  these  points  of  view ;  and 
to  get  to  the  bottom  of  its  meaning,  it 
must  be  so  studied.  Every  enduring  lit- 
erary work  not  only  affords  material  for, 
but  demands,  this  comprehensive  study, 
—  a  study  which  is  at  once  critical,  his- 
toric, and  personal. 

The    "  Divine    Comedy "    has    been 
74 


Alfred  De  Mussei 


Alfred  De  Mitssfi 


t-i"^^  '^^^    -^-^ 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

potent  enough  to  give  birth  to  a  large 
literature  of  secondary  and  derivative 
books  ;  its  philosophy,  its  theology,  its 
cosmology,  its  politics,  its  history,  its  art, 
have  each  in  turn  been  subjected  to  the 
most  searching  investigation.  We  know 
the  rank  of  the  great  poem  as  literature; 
we  know  its  historic  position  in  the  de- 
velopment of  the  Italian  mind ;  we  know 
its  profound  analysis  of  the  soul  and  its 
experiences;  we  know  what  a  marvellous 
revelation  of  life  lies  in  the  heart  of  it  as 
the  supreme  and  final  reward  of  patient 
and  sympathetic  study.  No  account  of 
Dante's  work  would  be  adequate  which 
failed  to  take  into  account  all  these  ele- 
ments of  its  power.  It  is  something 
more  than  a  noble  substance  of  thought 
encased  in  a  noble  form ;  something 
more  than  a  deep  glimpse  into  experi- 
ences which  under  different  names  are 
common  to  all  men ;  something  more 
than  a  chapter  of  history  written  in  fire 
and  blood.  It  is  all  these,  and  it  is 
something  greater.  Dante  was  a  man 
75 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

of  genius,  a  man  of  wonderful  perceptive 
and  receptive  power,  a  man  to  feel  even 
more  profoundly  than  he  thought,  and 
to  speak  even  wiser  than  he  knew. 
Humanity,  under  the  pressure  of  that 
education  which  we  call  history,  revealed 
the  unfathomable  depth  and  wonder  of 
its  life  through  him.  We  find  this 
same  quality  of  revelation  in  Homer,  in 
Shakespeare,  in  Milton,  in  Goethe  ;  we 
find  it  in  the  work  of  all  men  of  genius 
who  have  written  in  prose  or  verse ; 
we  find  it  in  Plato,  in  Marcus  Aure- 
lius,  in  Bacon,  in  Lessing,  in  Carlyle, 
In  Newman,  in  Emerson.  And  we  find 
it  in  all  the  great  forms  which  literature 
takes  on,  —  in  poetry,  the  drama,  fic- 
tion, history,  essay,  criticism.  Every 
expression  of  life  is  not  literature  ;  but 
nothing  which  possesses  the  indefinable 
quality  of  literature  fails  to  tell  us  some- 
thing about  that  all-embracing  fact. 
Forms,  standards,  methods,  change;  but 
the  unchangeable  element  in  all  litera- 
ture is  the  presence  of  some  aspect  of 
76 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

life  reflected,  reported,  interpreted,  with 
more  or  less  fidelity  and  power. 

Now,  the  study  of  literature  in  these 
larger  relations,  these  multiform  aspects, 
has  never  been  so  earnestly  pursued  as 
during  the  present  century.  Never  be- 
fore has  such  a  vast  amount  of  material 
been  accumulated ;  never  before  have 
there  been  such  opportunities  of  using 
on  a  great  scale  the  comparative  method. 
This  pursuit  has  become  a  passion  with 
many  of  the  most  sensitive  minds  ;  and 
we  have  as  a  result  a  body  of  literary 
interpretation  and  philosophy  in  the 
form  of  criticism  so  great  in  mass  and 
so  important  in  substance  as  to  consti- 
tute one  of  the  chief  distinctively  modern 
contributions  to  the  art  of  letters.  For 
this  study  of  books  and  the  men  who 
made  them  is  not  the  pastime  of  profes- 
sional Dryasdusts  ;  it  Is  the  original  and 
In  a  large  measure  the  creative  work 
of  those  who,  in  other  literary  periods 
and  under  other  intellectual  and  social 
influences,  would  have  illustrated  their 
77 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

genius  through  the  epic,  the  drama,  or 
the  lyric.  Lessing,  Herder,  Goethe, 
Coleridge,  Carlyle,  Sainte-Beuve,  Arnold, 
Amiel,  Emerson,  Lowell,  and  Stedman 
have  not  been  students  of  the  work  of 
other  men  simply  from  force  of  the 
scholarly  impulse ;  they  have  been  irre- 
sistibly attracted  to  the  study  of  litera- 
ature  because  literature  has  disclosed  to 
them  the  soul  and  the  laws  of  life  and 
art.  The  passion  for  contact  with  the 
great  and  inexhaustible  impulses  which 
unify  human  life  under  all  conditions 
has  led  these  diligent  explorers  from  one 
continent  to  another  until  a  new  world 
lies  within  our  ken.  Each  literature  in 
turn  is  yielding  its  secrets  of  race  in- 
heritance, temperament,  genius ;  each 
related  group  of  literatures  is  disclosing 
the  common  characteristics  of  the  family 
of  races  behind  it;  each  literary  epoch  is 
revealing  the  spiritual,  moral,  and  social 
forces  which  dominated  it;  each  great 
literary  form  is  discovering  its  intimate 
and  necessary  relation  with  some  fact  of 
78 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

life,  some  stage  or  process  of  experience. 
We  know  the  Greek  race  in  large  meas- 
ure through  the  Greek  literature ;  we 
know  the  unspent  forces  which  stirred 
the  Elizabethan  age  through  the  Eliza- 
bethan writers;  and  we  know  why,  at 
intervals,  the  greatest  literary  minds  have 
used  the  drama,  the  lyric,  the  novel,  as 
forms  of  expression.  All  this  we  owe 
to  the  modern  critical  movement,  —  a 
movement  not  so  much  of  study  and 
comparison  for  the  purposes  of  judg- 
ment by  fixed  standards,  as  of  investiga- 
tion for  the  purpose  of  laying  bare  the 
common  laws  of  life  and  art ;  of  making 
it  clear  to  us  that  literature  is  always  the 
vital  utterance  of  insight  and  experience. 
The  earliest  development  of  criticism 
on  any  considerable  scale  —  the  criticism 
of  Alexandria  and  of  the  later  stages  of 
the  revival  of  classical  learning  in  Italy, 
for  example  —  was  largely  textual ;  it 
concerned  itself  chiefly  with  the  settle- 
ment of  questions  of  variant  versions  ;  it 
was  mainly  and  necessarily  absorbed  in  a 
79 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

study  of  words  and  phrases.  Criticism 
of  the  higher  order  —  criticism  which 
searches  for  the  laws  of  beauty  in  the 
creations  of  art  —  is  not  possible  until 
there  has  been  a  large  accumulation  of 
material  upon  which  it  can  work.  The 
drama  must  pass  through  the  entire 
period  of  its  development,  from  its  rudi- 
mentary form  in  the  chorus  to  its  perfec- 
tion in  the  plays  of  Sophocles,  before 
Aristotle  announces  its  laws  and  defines 
its  aims.  Not  until  a  literary  form  has 
been  completely  worked  out  does  it  dis- 
close the  law  of  its  interior  structure  and 
its  resources  of  expression.  Nor  can 
any  single  work  of  literary  art  furnish 
the  elements  for  aesthetic  criticism ;  there 
must  be  kindred  works  with  which  com- 
parison may  be  made  and  resemblances 
or  contrasts  noted.  When  aesthetic  crit- 
icism is  fully  equipped  and  developed, 
there  remains  still  another  stage  in  the 
evolution ;  the  criticism  which  deals 
with  literature  as  a  whole,  which  stud- 
ies the  large  conditions  under  which 
80 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

it  is  created,  which  takes  account  of 
race,  time,  circumstance,  which  discerns 
in  the  detached  works  of  a  man  or  a 
generation  or  race  an  adequate  expres- 
sion of  human  experience  and  an  authen- 
tic revelation  of  human  life,  is  still  to 
come ;  and  this  larger  criticism  is  not 
possible  until  universal  literature  is  open 
to  the  critic.  It  is  true  that  these  differ- 
ent and  progressive  stages  are  not  always 
clearly  defined ;  they  shade  into  each 
other,  as  do  the  various  forms  of  animal 
and  vegetable  life.  They  are  often  con- 
temporaneous in  the  same  piece  of  criti- 
cal work  ;  comment  on  questions  of  text, 
illustration  of  aesthetic  quality,  and  recog- 
nition of  rank  and  significance  in  the 
general  movement  of  history  often  go 
hand  in  hand  in  the  work  of  a  critic  of 
the  first  rank.  Nevertheless,  these  three 
stages  of  the  development  of  criticism  are 
distinctly  and  unmistakably  marked. 

Textual  criticism  may  begin  with  the 
first  study  of  a  literary  work,  since  it  con- 
cerns that  work  alone,  and  has  no  relation 
6  8i 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

to  literature  at  large.  Textual  criticism  of 
the  "  Iliad "  and  "  Odyssey  "  began,  doubt- 
less, with  the  attempt,  in  the  time  of  Pisis- 
tratus,  to  collect  these  wandering  stories. 
.Esthetic  criticism  was  only  possible  when 
the  beauty  and  truth  of  these  great  works 
had  so  penetrated  and  enlightened  the 
Greek  mind  that  soundness  of  substance 
and  perfection  of  form  were  recognised  as 
the  tests  of  a  genuine  work  of  art.  The 
laws  of  art  have  always  been  discovered 
by  the  process  of  induction  ;  no  race  has 
ever  thought  much  about  art  in  the  ab- 
stract until  it  has  been  educated  by  con- 
tact with  works  which,  by  their  revelation 
to  the  eye,  have  made  the  mind  con- 
scious of  its  own  affinity  with  the  ideals 
of  beauty.  The  discovery  of  the  same 
laws  in  the  works  of  literature  has  fol- 
lowed a  similar  order.  The  lyric  must 
sing  in  the  hearts  of  men  before  the 
secret  of  its  form  is  discerned  and  dis- 
closed ;  the  drama  must  unfold  the  iron 
creed  of  fate,  or  the  indissoluble  union 
of  character  and  destiny,  before  the  laws 

82 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

which  shape  it  are  announced.  -Esthetic 
criticism  follows,  therefore,  those  pro- 
ductive periods  which,  by  enlargement 
and  enrichment  of  the  scope  of  actual 
achievement,  disclose  new  sources  of 
power,  larger  sweep  of  ideas,  different  or 
higher  possibilities  of  execution.  When 
Euripides  completed  his  work,  the  Greek 
had  all  the  materials  for  an  intelligent,  if 
still  incomplete,  study  of  the  drama  at 
hand;  iEschylus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripi- 
des had  wrought  with  such  power  on 
so  great  a  scale  that  they  had  made  clear 
the  construction  and  the  peculiar  force 
and  significance  of  the  noble  literary  form 
which  they  fashioned.  There  was  no 
need,  for  the  purposes  of  aesthetic  criti- 
cism, to  hold  judgment  in  suspense  until 
Lessing,  Corneille,  Calderon,  and  Shake- 
speare had  spoken.  Aristotle  was  amply 
justified  by  the  scope  and  splendour  of 
the  drama  of  his  own  race  in  declaring 
the  purpose  of  all  dramatic  representa- 
tion. But  as  a  disclosure  of  the  full 
possibilities  of  the  drama  as  an  instru- 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

merit  of  human  expression,  even  the 
Attic  stage  was  incomplete  ;  other  races 
must  endure  and  suffer  and  translate  ex- 
perience into  art,  before  the  full  compass 
of  this  magnificent  literary  form  could  be 
understood.  And  when  the  drama  has 
been  brought  as  near  perfection  as  the 
genius  of  man  can  carry  it,  there  are  still 
other  elements  which  must  enter  into 
a  final  and  adequate  comprehension  of  its 
significance.  It  must  be  studied  in  the 
]ight  of  a  complete  literary  development ; 
it  must  find  its  place  in  the  large  move- 
ment of  history.  To  a  real  mastery  of 
the  drama  as  a  form  of  art  and  an  expres- 
sion of  experience,  there  is  necessary, 
therefore,  its  full  development  under 
many  diverse  conditions  and  at  many 
hands,  familiarity  with  literature  in  all  its 
forms,  and  clear  perception  of  the  his- 
toric life  behind  the  work  of  art.  And 
what  is  true  of  the  drama  is  also  true  of 
the  epic,  the  lyric,  the  ballad,  the  novel, 
—  in  a  word,  of  literature  as  a  whole. 
The  conditions  which  make  possible 
84 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

this  comprehensive  study  of  literature  as 
an  art,  and  as  an  expression  of  human 
life,  have  not  existed  until  within  com- 
paratively recent  times.  There  are 
glimpses  here  and  there  In  the  works  of 
the  greatest  minds  of  the  unity  of  knowl- 
edge, glimpses  of  the  range  and  signifi- 
cance of  literature  as  the  vital  outcome 
of  all  human  experience ;  but  the  clear 
perception  of  these  truths  has  been  pos- 
sible only  to  modern  men.  It  is  one 
thing  to  glance  at  a  great  truth  in  the 
swift  vision  of  prophecy  ;  it  is  a  very 
different  thing  to  discern  it  as  the  result 
of  deliberate  searching,  and  to  hold  it 
within  the  field  until  it  is  clearly  under- 
stood in  its  import  and  large  relations. 
So  long  as  knowledge  and  art  were  ab- 
stractly conceived, — thought  of  as  exist- 
ing apart  and  isolated  from  human  devel- 
opment,—  there  could  be  no  conception 
of  their  harmony  and  interdependence, 
of  their  vital  relation  to  the  development 
of  men  as  individuals  and  as  a  society. 
It  was  reserved  for  the  Germans  of  the 
85 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

last  century  to  comprehend  and  formu- 
late that  idea  of  the  unity  and  vital  inter- 
dependence of  all  the  forms  and  forces 
of  civilisation  which  lies  at  the  founda- 
tion of  all  our  modern  thinking ;  which 
has,  indeed,  transformed  and  recon- 
structed all  knowledge. 

What  the  Humanists  did  in  a  partial 
and  provisional  way  toward  a  true  and 
real  insight  into  the  antique  world,  the 
great  German  critics  of  the  last  century 
—  Winckelmann,  Herder,  Lessing,  and 
Goethe  —  did  fundamentally  and  per- 
manently, not  only  for  classical  art  and 
life,  but  for  all  knowledge  and  history. 
The  Humanists  destroyed  the  mediaeval 
tradition  of  Virgil,  and  brought  back  the 
living  man ;  brushed  aside  the  cobwebs 
with  which  centuries  of  monkish  teach- 
ing had  obscured  the  great  poem,  and 
made  clear  once  more  its  human  tender- 
ness and  beauty.  The  German  thinkers 
destroyed  the  abstract  idea  of  knowledge 
which  divided  it  into  separate  depart- 
ments, isolated  from  each  other  and  de- 
86 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

tached  from  the  living  experience  of 
men,  —  the  formal,  academic  idea  of  art 
as  a  set  of  rules,  a  fixed  and  conventional 
practice  unrelated  to  national  character. 
Rejecting  the  dry  and  arbitrary  defini- 
tions and  abstractions  of  his  time, 
Winckelmann  discovered  the  totality 
of  Greek  life,  and  saw  what  his  prede- 
cessors had  failed  to  see,  —  that  sim- 
plicity, elevation,  and  repose  were  the 
common  qualities  of  the  dramas  of 
Sophocles,  the  marbles  of  Phidias,  the 
speculations  of  Plato,  the  orations 
of  Pericles ;  that  literature,  sculpture, 
philosophy,  and  oratory  were,  there- 
fore, the  vitally  related  parts  of  a  har- 
monious and  complete  expression  of 
Greek  life ;  and  that  the  common  root 
whence  all  these  exquisite  flowers  drew 
their  loveliness  was  the  Greek  nature. 
Many  of  the  marbles  In  the  Vatican 
were  recovered  as  part  of  the  great 
work  of  the  Renaissance,  but  they  were 
first  really  seen  by  Winckelmann  and 
his  contemporaries.  He  discerned  the 
87 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

noble  idealism  shared  alike  by  Plato 
and  the  sculptors  of  the  Periclean  age, 
—  that  idealism  which  found  in  the 
Greek  mind  so  congenial  a  soil,  and  in 
the  Greek  hand  and  the  Greek  speech 
such  sure  and  marvellous  interpreters. 
Winckelmann  "  first  unveiled  the  ideal 
beauty  of  Greek  antiquity,"  and  dis- 
closed those  qualities  of  Greek  art 
which  make  it  one  in  all  its  splendid 
forms ;  so  that  whether  we  study  the 
trilogy  of  Agamemnon,  the  structure 
of  the  Parthenon,  the  statesmanship  of 
Pericles,  or  the  "  Phaedrus,"  we  are  con- 
scious of  but  a  single  creative  personal- 
ity. In  its  magical  beauty  each  work 
remains  a  perpetual  type ;  but  the 
genius  of  the  lamp  by  which  these 
wonders  were  wrought  was  one.  Be- 
hind all  these  beautiful  masks  there 
was  a  single  face.  Winckelmann  saw 
that  art  had  a  natural  history  of  its  own, 
and  that  its  birth,  its  successive  stages 
of  growth,  its  decay  and  death,  could 
be  clearly  traced;  he  saw  that  religion, 
88 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

political  development,  race,  climate,  soil, 
character  furnished  the  conditions  of 
its  life.  He  perceived,  in  a  word,  the 
unity  of  Greek  life  and  history,  the 
organic  and  historic  development  of 
Greek  art.  For  an  abstract  idea,  he 
substituted  a  living  organism ;  for  a 
conventional  system,  a  vital  process ; 
for  an  isolated  skill,  the  splendid  ex- 
pression of  the  deepest  human  experi- 
ence and  the  loftiest  human  ideals. 

By  very  different  methods,  and  with 
a  very  different  mind,  but  in  the  same 
vital  spirit,  Herder  approached  the  study 
of  literature.  French  influence  was  still 
dominant  in  Germany,  where  the  abso- 
lutism of  Frederick  in  the  State  was  re- 
produced in  letters  in  the  tyranny  of 
artificial  tastes,  conventional  models,  and 
a  dead  formality  alien  to  the  German 
mind  and  powerless  to  touch  the  Ger- 
man heart.  Boileau's  "  Art  Poetique  " 
was  the  final  word  concerning  literature ; 
while  the  sovereignty  of  fact  and  the  su- 
premacy of  common-sense,  incarnated  in 
89 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

the  "  Encyclopaedia,"  barred  out  the  vis- 
ions of  the  imagination  and  the  insight 
of  intuition.  In  this  formal  world,  from 
which  all  natural,  primary  impulses  were 
shut  out.  Herder  appeared,  fresh  from 
contact  with  the  living  sources  of  lit- 
erature. He  was  saturated  with  the 
poetry  of  the  Bible;  he  had  drunk 
deep  at  the  springs  of  Homer,  Shake- 
speare, and  the  English  ballads.  He 
was  under  the  spell  of  the  freshest  and 
most  creative  spirit  ever  expressed  in 
literature,  —  a  spirit  instinctively  artis- 
tic in  every  expression  of  itself,  and 
yet  without  a  touch  of  self-conscious- 
ness. Nowhere  has  the  soul  of  man 
spoken  with  such  perfect  simplicity  and 
sincerity,  and  consequently  with  such 
sublime  eloquence,  as  in  the  pages  of 
the  Bible,  of  Homer,  and  of  Shake- 
speare. Herder  exchanged  the  old- 
fashioned  French  garden,  with  its 
deformed  trees  and  intrusive  orderli- 
ness, for  the  bloom  of  the  open  field. 
Literature  was  no  artificial  product  to 
90 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

him ;  it  was  a  natural  growth  ;  its  roots 
were  in  the  heart  of  man ;  it  was  the 
voice  of  man's  need  and  sufferings  and 
hopes.  From  the  conventional  ideas 
and  standards  of  his  time  he  turned  to 
the  profound  conception  of  literature 
as  a  growth,  an  unforced  and  authori- 
tative utterance  of  the  soul.  He  re- 
turned to  Nature,  in  the  well-worn 
phrase ;  to  Nature  as  he  found  it  in 
primitive  ages,  and  in  men  whose  sim- 
plicity and  sincerity  were  still  untouched 
by  conventionalism.  "  Poetry  in  those 
happy  days,"  he  declared,  "lived  in  the 
ears  of  the  people,  on  the  lips  and  in 
the  harps  of  living  bards ;  it  sang  of 
history,  of  the  events  of  the  day,  of 
mysteries,  miracles,  and  signs.  It  was 
the  flower  of  a  nation's  character,  lan- 
guage, and  country,  of  its  occupations,  its 
prejudices,  its  passions,  its  aspirations, 
and  its  soul."  The  epic  was  to  Herder 
"  the  living  history  of  the  people  ;  "  the 
Lied,  or  song,  was  not  a  poem  of  the 
study  and  the  salon ;  it  was  a  natural 
91 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

melody  out  of  the  heart  of  a  passion  or 
sentiment.  The  fable  was  not  a  cal- 
culated setting  of  moral  truth  in  story 
form ;  it  was  "  the  poetical  illustration 
of  a  lesson  of  experience  by  means  of 
a  characteristic  trait,  drawn  from  animal 
life,  and  developed  by  analogy."  "  Anal- 
ogy is  the  parent  of  poetry  in  fables, 
not  abstraction,  still  less  a  dry  deduc- 
tion from  the  general  to  the  particular.'* 
Herder  opposed  to  the  mechanical  con- 
ception of  literature,  then  almost  uni- 
versally held,  the  vital  conception  ;  he 
recognised  the  distinctive  quality  of  gen- 
ius, because  he  emphasised  the  spon- 
taneous element  in  all  great  poetry;  he 
discerned  the  parallelism  between  liter- 
ary and  historical  development.  The 
significant  word  with  him  was  growth ; 
because  growth  implies  natural  process 
as  opposed  to  mechanical  process,  spon- 
taneous impulse  as  opposed  to  conscious 
action,  genius  as  opposed  to  artifice,  the 
individual  soul  as  opposed  to  abstract 
ideas.  Goethe  expressed  Herder's  fun- 
9a 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

damental  idea  when  he  said :  "  Every- 
thing that  man  undertakes  to  produce, 
whether  by  action,  word,  or  in  whatso- 
ever way,  ought  to  spring  fi-om  the 
union  of  all  his  faculties."  It  is  this 
deep,  unconscious  expression  of  the 
totality  of  man's  experience  and  nature 
which  pervades  the  greatest  works  of 
literature,  and  makes  them  the  most 
authoritative  works  of  history  we  pos- 
sess. They  record  the  progress  of  that 
education  of  the  soul  for  which  the 
world  stands. 

Herder  performed  for  literature  the 
service  which  Winckelmann  performed 
for  antique  art :  he  discovered  its  nat- 
ural history,  and  set  it  in  normal  rela- 
tions with  the  totality  of  human  thought 
and  achievement.  And  what  he  had 
done  for  literature  he  did  also  for  his- 
tory. He  substituted  a  natural  and 
vital  for  an  artificial  and  mechanical  con- 
ception. He  grasped  the  great  idea  of 
development,  so  familiar  to  us,  and  so 
fruitful  of  fresher  and  deeper  views  of 
93 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

things.  "  Up  to  this  time, "  says  a  Ger- 
man writer,  reported  by  Hillebrand,  from 
whom  these  quotations  are  made,  "  the 
most  mechanical  teleology  had  reigned  in 
the  philosophy  of  history.  Providence 
was  represented  to  have  created  cork- 
trees that  men  should  have  wherewith 
to  stop  their  bottles."  Herder  saw  that 
the  laws  which  govern  the  life  of  men  in 
the  world  are  written  in  the  very  consti- 
tution of  the  soul,  and  are  not  arbitrary 
regulations  impressed  from  without ;  that 
history  records  the  unfolding  of  germs 
and  forces  which  were  within  the  soul  at 
the  beginning,  not  a  series  of  interfer- 
ences and  interruptions  ;  and  that  these 
germs  are  developed  under  conditions 
fixed  by  law,  and  part,  therefore,  of  the 
very  structure  of  Nature.  "  The  God  I 
look  for  in  history,"  he  said,  "  must  be 
the  same  as  the  God  of  Nature,  —  for 
man  is  but  a  tiny  particle  of  the  whole, 
and  the  history  of  mankind  resembles 
that  of  the  worm,  closely  connected  with 
the  tissue  it  inhabits  ;  therefore  the  nat- 
94 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

ural  laws  by  which  the  Deity  reveals 
itself  must  reign  in  man  likewise.  .  .  . 
The  whole  history  of  humanity  is  pure, 
natural  history  of  human  forces,  actions, 
and  instincts,  according  to  time  and 
place."  If  Herder  meant  in  these 
words  to  shut  out  the  constant  inflow 
of  spiritual  influences  into  human  his- 
tory, we  might  well  part  company  with 
him;  but  the  emphasis  of  his  statement 
and  its  deep  significance  are  to  be  found 
in  the  fact  that  he  vitahsed  history  as  he 
had  vitalised  literature,  by  putting  a  nat- 
ural process  of  growth  in  the  place  of  a 
mechanical  process,  thus  making  history 
a  living  expression  of  the  character  of 
man,  —  a  continuous  revelation  of  the 
laws  and  forces  of  life. 

Those  only  who  understand  how  wide- 
spread and  deep-rooted  were  mechanical 
and  arbitrary  ideas  in  the  last  century 
can  understand  how  tremendous  a  revo- 
lution was  implicit  in  the  changes  of 
thought  thus  rapidly  sketched,  —  a  revo- 
lution which  has  affected  every  depart- 
95 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

ment  of  knowledge,  and  has  reorganised 
it  along  new  and  deeper  lines.  Carlyle 
once  said  to  Bayard  Taylor  that  Goethe 
had  been  his  saviour.  There  was  a  char- 
acteristic exaggeration  in  the  statement ; 
but  it  had  this  truth  at  the  bottom,  that 
at  a  time  when  the  young  Scotch  thinker 
found  himself  forced  to  part  company 
with  the  narrow  and  arid  conception  of 
life  and  humanity  as  vitiated  by  cor- 
ruption, and  not  only  entirely  untrust- 
worthy, but  dissevered  and  broken  into 
fragments,  the  buoyant  naturalism  of 
Goethe,  affirming  the  divine  origin  and 
destiny  of  all  created  things,  the  sound- 
ness and  healthfulness  of  Nature  and 
man,  the  unity  and  dignity  of  history  and 
knowledge,  and  consequently  the  author- 
ity of  history,  literature,  and  art  as  a 
revelation  of  both  human  and  divine,  put 
solid  ground  under  him,  and  gave  him  a 
rational  and  harmonious  view  of  things, 
—  a  view  which  included  and  made  room 
for  every  form  of  human  activity.  It  is 
very  interesting  to  the  reader  of  Goethe 
96 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

to-day  to  discover  how  generally  the  in- 
tellectual movement  of  this  century  is  re- 
flected in  his  pages,  and  how  profoundly 
sympathetic  his  mind  was  with  the  broad 
and,  within  certain  limits,  healthy  and 
fruitful  naturalism  which  pervades  con- 
temporary thought.  The  nature  of  man 
was  to  Goethe  the  one  authoritative  and 
authentic  revelation,  and  he  refused  to 
reject  any  part  of  that  revelation.  His- 
tory, literature,  art,  religion,  —  these  all 
expressed  what  man  has  been  and  has 
become  by  virtue  of  the  evolution  of  his 
personality  under  the  established  condi- 
tions of  life.  The  natural  history  of  man 
is  written  in  his  works,  and  together  they 
form  the  trustworthy  record  and  disclos- 
ure of  his  nature. 

It  will  be  seen  from  this  brief  state- 
ment that  Winckelmann,  Herder,  and 
Goethe  held  certain  fundamental  ideas  in 
common,  and  these  ideas  will  be  found 
to  be  fundamental  in  modern  criticism. 
The  perception  of  the  truth  that  litera- 
ture is,  in  large  measure,  conditioned  on 
7  97 


Essays  In  Literary  Interpretation 

the  development,  the  surroundings,  and 
the  character  of  the  men  who  create  it ; 
that  the  vast  and  varied  movement  of 
humanity  recorded  in  history  is  a  devel- 
opment, a  progressive  unfolding,  a  co- 
herent expression  of  man's  nature ;  and 
that  literature,  as  a  part  of  this  vast 
movement,  represents  a  growth,  a  vital 
process,  and  is,  therefore,  a  part  of  the 
discovery  of  himself  which  man  is  mak- 
ing as  his  supreme  achievement  in  life,  — 
these  are  the  informing  ideas  of  the  mod- 
ern critical  movement.  The  epoch  of 
purely  textual  criticism  has  long  passed 
away ;  that  work  has  been  transferred 
mainly,  if  not  entirely,  to  the  scholars. 
iEsthetic  criticism,  on  the  other  hand, 
has  been  immensely  enriched  and  stimu- 
lated by  the  application  to  literature  of 
the  ideas  which  have  been  set  forth ; 
never  in  the  history  of  letters  has  there 
been  so  much  criticism  of  the  highest 
order  as  during  the  present  century. 
When  it  was  seen  that  no  literary  work 
is  detached  from  the  totality  of  human 
98 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

achievement ;  that  no  work  represents 
individual  gift,  skill,  or  experience  alone ; 
that  in  every  real  book  humanity  speaks 
out  of  and  to  its  own  heart,  —  the  feeling 
toward  literature  was  immensely  deep- 
ened and  freshened.  Esthetic  criticism 
formerly  concerned  itself  entirely  with 
the  fidelity  of  a  work  to  standards  already 
set  up  by  the  creations  of  acknowledged 
masters ;  this  was  the  kind  of  criticism 
which  was  practised  in  England  and  on 
the  continent  at  the  close  of  the  last  and 
the  beginning  of  the  present  century.  It 
was  assumed  that  the  last  word  had  been 
spoken  concerning  the  art  of  writing ; 
that  the  final  canons  had  been  announced, 
and  the  final  standards  and  models  given 
to  the  world.  A  new  work  must  con- 
form to  these  standards  or  suffer  con- 
demnation ;  lack  of  conformity  meant 
lack  of  art.  Now,  the  very  idea  of  liter- 
ature as  a  growth,  as  an  expression  of 
the  continually  unfolding  life  of  man, 
involves  not  only  the  possibility,  but 
the  certainty,  of  change  and  expansion. 
99 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

New  forms  of  expression  must  be  born 
with  the  new  thoughts  and  experiences 
which  they  are  to  clothe.  The  permanent 
element  in  literature  is  not  form,  but 
spirit ;  not  a  particular  manner,  but  per- 
fection of  manner ;  not  uniformity  of  ex- 
ecution, but  endless  variety,  stamped 
always  with  supreme  excellence.  There 
are  flawless  models,  but  they  are  for  in- 
spiration, not  for  imitation ;  they  fix  the 
standard  of  quality,  but  they  liberate  the 
hand  which  they  inspire. 

This  was  perhaps  the  first  great  change 
effected  by  the  modern  way  of  looking  at 
literature;  and  the  extent  and  signifi- 
cance of  that  change  can  be  seen  by  com- 
paring the  criticism  of  Voltaire  with  that 
of  Sainte-Beuve ;  the  criticism  of  Dr. 
Johnson  with  that  of  Matthew  Arnold. 
The  older  view  of  literature  involved  the 
idea  of  a  fixed  and  formal  set  of  laws  con- 
stituting an  art;  the  later  view  involves 
the  growth  of  literature  with  the  growth 
of  man,  the  essential  element  being,  not 
conformity  to  a  rigid  order  of  form,  but 

lOO 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

soundness  and  veracity  of  thought,  and 
beauty  and  flexibility  of  expression.  Dr. 
Johnson  could  understand  Dryden  be- 
cause Dryden  was  a  conformist,  in  letter 
if  not  in  spirit ;  but  Shakespeare  belonged 
to  another  order,  and  demanded  a  breadth 
and  catholicity  which  Dr.  Johnson  could 
not  bring  to  his  magical  pages.  Mr. 
Arnold,  on  the  other  hand,  can  perceive 
the  literary  quality  shared  in  common 
by  men  as  diverse  as  Wordsworth  and 
Shelley,  as  Byron  and  Tolstoi.  The 
criticism  represented  by  Mr.  Arnold, 
even  when  it  limits  itself  to  aesthetic 
quality  alone,  is  informed  with  modern 
ideas ;  with  the  ideas  which  Herder  and 
his  contemporaries  were  the  first  to  see 
clearly  and  to  apply  profoundly.  No 
man  studies  a  star  as  a  solitary  world ; 
though  he  shut  all  other  stars  out  of  the 
field  of  observation,  the  heavens  still 
move  about  the  shining  point  which  he 
has  isolated.  A  modern  critic  approaches 
a  work  of  literature  with  certain  ideas 
which  are  a  part  of  his  intellectual  life. 

lOI 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

He  cannot,  if  he  would,  detach  a  writer 
from  his  age,  his  race,  humanity :  all 
these  are  present  in  every  study  which 
he  makes ;  they  are  involved  in  every 
conclusion  which  he  reaches ;  they  con- 
tribute to  every  judgment  which  he 
pronounces. 

The  older  criticism,  the  criticism  based 
on  standards  which  were  supposed  to  be 
exact  and  final,  must  in  the  nature  of 
things  have  continued  to  be  a  derivative 
and  secondary  growth,  —  a  body  of 
writing  related  to  the  original  work  of 
which  it  treated,  very  much  as  the  para- 
site is  related  to  the  trunk  from  which  it 
draws  its  life.  But  for  the  development 
of  the  ideas  which  have  been  emphasised, 
criticism  as  we  know  it  could  never  have 
been.  For  when  we  study  this  criticism 
as  a  whole,  we  become  aware  that  it  is 
original  and  not  secondary  work ;  and 
that  criticism  as  a  literary  form  has  as 
deep  a  root,  and  is  as  clearly  related  to 
human  growth  and  experience  as  the 
epic,  the  drama,  or  any  other  form  of 
102 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

distinctively  creative  work.  The  extent 
to  which  this  form  has  been  used  by- 
men  of  literary  genius  of  late  years, 
and  the  perfection  to  which  it  has  been 
brought,  indicate  clearly  that  there  is  be- 
hind it  a  primary  impulse,  —  an  impulse 
which  seeks  it  as  something  normal,  ade- 
quate, and  akin  to  the  spirit  and  thought 
of  the  day.  It  is  sometimes  said  that 
the  great  place  in  contemporary  litera- 
ture occupied  by  criticism  is  evidence  of 
the  decline  of  the  creative  impulse,  and 
that  the  originative  forces  are  evidently 
spent.  This  class  of  comment  is  familiar 
to  all  students  of  literature,  who  have 
read  again  and  again  the  announcement 
of  a  similar  decay  of  art  because  some 
new  form  of  expression  had  begun  to 
press  hard  upon  the  old  in  importance 
and  influence.  The  literary  instinct, 
like  every  kind  of  artistic  instinct,  is 
characterised  by  the  greatest  sensitivism  ; 
men  select  forms  of  expression  rarely  as 
the  result  of  deliberation ;  the  form 
comes  generally  with  the  message  which 
103 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

it  is  to  contain,  or  the  significant  fact 
which  it  is  to  express.  If  a  literary  form 
attracts  a  great  number  of  fine  minds  at 
a  given  time,  this  fact  of  itself  raises  the 
presumption  that  the  attractive  power 
lies  in  some  deep  and  real  affinity  between 
this  particular  form  and  the  intellectual 
and  spiritual  conditions  of  the  time. 
Without  consideration  of  the  contents 
of  modern  criticism,  the  fact  that  so 
many  minds  of  the  highest  class  have 
made  it  their  chief  means  of  self-expres- 
.sion  ought  to  put  us  on  guard  against 
any  conclusion  involving  its  rank  as  an 
original  contribution  to  literature.  That 
men  of  the  order  of  Coleridge,  Carlyle, 
Sainte-Beuve,  and  Arnold  have  chosen 
criticism  as  the  method  of  expression  best 
fitted  to  convey  their  convictions  and 
conclusions  is  a  sufficient  answer  to  those 
who  regard  it  as  a  secondary  form,  and 
refuse  to  recognise  it  as  original  and  first- 
hand work.  Not  exhaustion  of  creative 
impulse,  but  change  of  direction,  is  indi- 
cated by  the  attractiveness  of  criticism  to 
104 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

modern  minds ;  not  a  decline  of  force, 
but  the  application  of  force  through  a 
new  instrument. 

The  scientific  spirit  has  invaded  litera- 
ture to  the  extent  of  emphasising  the 
importance  of  a  clear  comprehension  of 
all  the  elements  that  enter  into  a  work 
of  literary  art  so  far  as  they  are  discover- 
able. The  secret  of  the  splendid  vitality 
of  the  "  Odyssey  "  eludes  all  search ;  but 
we  recognise  it  the  more  clearly  now  that 
we  have  learned  so  much  about  the  Greek 
life  and  character  out  of  which  it  issued 
and  in  which  it  was  embosomed.  But 
this  spirit,  in  its  devotion  to  reality  and 
its  instinct  for  getting  to  the  bottom  of 
things,  could  not  rest  in  any  isolated 
study  of  literary  works ;  it  must  study 
literature  as  a  whole,  determine  its  rank 
and  place,  and  interpret  its  significance 
in  the  totality  of  human  development. 
It  is  in  the  body  of  modern  critical 
writing  that  we  discover  the  response 
of  the  literary  mind  to  the  methods  and 
spirit  of  science.  The  absorbing  search 
105 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

of  science  is  for  the  fact,  and  the  law 
behind  the  fact ;  it  fashions  nothing  ^  it 
waits  with  infinite  patience  on  discovery. 
Now,  the  end  of  criticism  is,  to  this  ex- 
tent, identical  with  the  end  of  science ; 
it  is  to  discover  and  lay  bare  the  fact, 
and  the  law  behind  it.  Is  this  work 
true  to  the  fact,  the  law  ?  is  its  first  ques- 
tion ;  and  the  answer  involves  a  clear 
discernment  of  the  truth  of  idea  or  ex- 
perience which  the  writer  has  sought  to 
represent  under  the  form  of  art,  and  also 
a  clear  perception  of  the  law  of  beauty  to 
which  it  must  conform  if  it  contain  the  in- 
definable quality  of  art.  Thus,  as  its  most 
immediate  and  direct  result,  criticism  dis- 
covers the  presence  or  absence  of  sound- 
nsss  of  substance  and  perfection  of  form. 
But  there  is  another  and  more  com- 
prehensive question  which  criticism  asks. 
The  work  which  it  studies  must  conform 
to  something,  but  it  must  also  reveal 
something;  it  must  disclose  a  certain 
order  and  beauty  of  workmanship,  but 
it  must  also  discover  its  connection  with 
io6 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

an  ultimate  order  to  which  every  real 
expression  of  man's  soul  bears  witness. 
When  Matthew  Arnold  defines  poetry 
as  a  criticism  of  life,  he  indicates  that 
which  is  behind  all  literature,  whether 
in  verse  or  prose,  —  that  which  supplies 
its  inspiration  and  furnishes  its  unfailing 
test  What  is  soundness  of  substance 
but  fidelity  to  the  fact  and  law  of  life  ? 
A  work  of  art  is  sound  only  when  it  is 
true  to  nature  and  experience ;  it  may 
possess  the  very  highest  beauty,  but  if, 
like  some  of  Shelley's  longer  poems,  it 
lacks  reality,  truth  to  experience  or  to 
ideals  which  are  the  projection  of  expe- 
rience, we  are  compelled  to  assign  it  a 
lower  rank.  It  is  defective  in  that  qual- 
ity which  is,  so  far  as  substance  is  con- 
cerned, the  supreme  quality  of  the  really 
great  work  of  art.  And  what  is  perfec- 
tion of  form  but  fidelity  to  those  laws 
of  art  never  put  on  tables  of  stone,  but 
indelibly  written  in  the  soul  by  the  hand 
whose  vast  creation  follows  ever  the  line 
of  beauty  ?  The  fact  and  the  law  of  life 
107 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

and  art,  —  these  are  the  realities  for  which 
criticism,  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
is  always  searching.  These  form  what 
Fichte  called  "  the  divine  idea  of  the 
world,"  which  "lies  at  the  bottom  of  all 
appearance."  Herder,  Goethe,  Hilde- 
brand,  and  Grimm ;  Sainte-Beuve  and 
Scherer;  Coleridge,  Carlyle,  Arnold, 
Dowden,  and  Hutton ;  Emerson  and 
Lowell,  —  the  great  company  of  those 
who  have  pursued  criticism  for  the  high- 
est ends  have  each  and  all  disclosed  the 
power  of  these  ideas  upon  their  work. 
They  have  fashioned  a  new  form  of  lit- 
erature, and  one  perfectly  adapted  to  the 
intellectual  methods  and  tendencies  of 
the  age,  —  a  form  through  which  the 
creative  impulse,  following  the  scientific 
method,  but  in  the  truest  literary  spirit, 
works  with  a  freedom  and  power  which 
attest  the  adaptation  of  the  instrument 
to  the  task.  Perfection  of  form  is  no- 
where more  perfectly  illustrated  than  in 
the  best  critical  writing,  in  which  the 
more  imposing  qualities  of  order,  pro- 
io8 


Significance  of  Modern  Criticism 

portion,  gradation,  are  combined  with 
marvellous  delicacy  of  touch,  refinement 
of  characterisation,  subtility  and  keenness 
of  insight. 

Modern  criticism  has  given  us  a  new 
conception  of  literature.  Studying  com- 
prehensively the  vast  material  which  has 
come  to  its  hand,  discerning  clearly  the 
law  of  growth  behind  all  art,  and  the 
interdependence  and  unity  of  all  human 
development,  it  has  given  us  an  inter- 
pretation of  literature  which  is  nothing 
less  than  another  chapter  in  the  revela- 
tion of  life.  This  is  its  real  contribution 
to  civilisation ;  this  is  the  achievement 
which  stamps  it  as  creative  work.  The 
epic  described  adequately  and  nobly  the 
stir  and  movement  of  an  objective  age ; 
the  drama  represented  the  relations  of 
men  to  the  powers  above  them  and  to 
the  organised  social  and  moral  forces 
about  them ;  criticism,  in  the  hands  of 
the  great  writers,  discloses  the  law  and 
the  fact  of  art  and  life  as  these  final 
realities  are  revealed  through  literature. 
109 


Chapter  IV 

The  Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

THE  real  importance  of  those  move- 
ments in  literature  or  art  which 
have  been  definite  enough  in  aim  to  en- 
list an  active  membership  of  gifted  per- 
sons and  to  formulate  something  like  a 
creed,  is  to  be  found,  as  a  rule,  not  in  the 
creed,  but  in  the  fellowship.  The  formu- 
lation of  principles,  the  agreement  upon 
methods,  seem  at  the  moment  of  the 
first  importance;  but  time,  that  patient 
corrector  of  inadequate  judgments  and 
false  perspectives,  is  indifferent  to  the- 
ories of  art,  and  cares  only  for  the  work 
which  discovers  the  inspired  touch,  and 
the  personality  through  which  the  vision 
of  truth  or  beauty  enters  into  the  com- 
mon life  of  men.  Such  movements  are 
often  fruitful  of  great  works  and  great 
souls,  and  mark  great  expansions  of 
no 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

thought ;  but  the  specific  creeds  which 
they  profess,  like  creeds  of  every  sort, 
are  always  partial,  inadequate,  and  pro- 
visional. That  which  seemed  a  finality 
to  the  men  who  were  under  the  spell  of 
its  fresh  and  thrilling  influence,  in  the 
end  falls  into  line  with  the  continuous 
process  of  development  of  which  it  was 
part,  and  is  recognised  as  a  new  and 
fruitful  evolution  from  the  past. 

To  the  ardent  youths  who  crowded 
the  Theatre  Francais  on  the  evening  of 
Feb.  25,  1830,  "Hernani"  filled  the 
entire  stage  of  the  world  and  obliter- 
ated the  drama  of  the  past ;  in  that  hour 
Romanticism  was  not  so  much  a  reac- 
tion as  a  complete  and  final  revolution 
of  the  aims  and  principles  of  dramatic 
art.  To  many  of  the  Transcendentalists 
of  forty  years  ago  the  pure  and  highly 
intellectual  impulse  which  they  shared 
prophesied  the  breaking  of  the  last  seals, 
and  the  imminent  disclosure  of  that 
open  secret  which  has  been  in  all  times 
both    inspiration    and     anguish    to    the 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

noblest  souls.  No  student  of  literature 
will  underestimate  the  value  of  those 
statements  of  principles,  vague  and  in- 
complete as  they  were,  which  grew  out 
of  the  Romantic  and  Transcendental 
movements ;  but  the  real  significance 
of  Romanticism  and  Transcendentalism 
is  to  be  found  in  the  substantial  works 
which  attest  to  the  world  the  reality  of 
the  impulse  which  inspired  them,  and 
in  which  the  main  drift  of  both  move- 
ments is  to  be  discovered.  Much  has 
been  written  concerning  Pre-Raphaelit- 
ism,  and  much  doubtless  remains  to 
be  said  touching  this  very  interesting 
movement  which  affected  English  art  so 
strongly  forty  years  ago ;  but  the  signifi- 
cance and  value  of  the  impulse  which 
strove  with  only  partial  success  to  formu- 
late itself  in  the  "  Germ  "  and,  later,  in 
the  "  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Maga- 
zine," is  to  be  found  in  the  works  of 
three  or  four  eminent  artists,  and  of  at 
least  one  poet  of  rare  quality  and  unique 
personality.     We  are  chiefly    concerned 

113 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

to  know  that  the  Pre-Raphaelite  move- 
ment, Hke  every  other  great  movement 
in  art  and  literature,  was  not  so  much 
the  outcome  of  a  new  doctrine,  a  novel 
creed,  as  a  new  attitude  toward  Nature 
and  life,  a  more  sincere  and  earnest 
mood,  a  fresh  perception  of  truth  and 
beauty  through  individual  genius,  a  deep 
and  spontaneous  feeling  for  things  which 
had  come  to  be  treated  in  a  conven- 
tional and  formal  way.  The  significance 
of  such  movements  lies  always  in  the  fact 
that  they  mark  fresh  contact  of  open 
and  aspiring  minds  with  Nature  and  life  ; 
and  when  this  takes  place,  ferment,  agita- 
tion, and  brilliant  activity  inevitably  fol- 
low. The  artists  and  poets  who  are 
associated  with  Pre-Raphaelitism  were 
moved  by  a  common  instinct  to  forsake 
the  conventional  and  academic  methods 
of  the  day  and  study  Nature  for  them- 
selves ;  this  was  the  wholesome  impulse 
at  the  heart  of  their  common  activity, 
and  its  sincerity  and  power  are  the  more 
apparent  now  that  the  excessive  indi- 
8  113 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

vidualism  and  morbid  intensity  of  much 
of  its  expression  have  become  things  of 
the  past. 

It  would  be  interesting  as  matter  of 
literary  history  to  indicate  the  relations 
of  this  movement  to  the  larger  move- 
ment of  thought  and  life  which  set  its 
impress  on  the  literature  of  Europe  at 
the  close  of  the  last  and  the  beginning 
of  the  present  century.  Herder  and 
the  young  Goethe ;  Burns,  Byron, 
Keats,  Shelley,  Coleridge,  and  Words- 
worth ;  Hugo  and  Gautier,  —  are  names 
which  seem  to  suggest  differences  rather 
than  agreement;  but  it  would  not  be 
difficult  to  discover  certain  near  and 
close  ties  between  them.  More  evident 
and  readily  discoverable  is  the  relation- 
ship of  Pre-Raphaelitism  with  Roman- 
ticism ;  with  the  Oxford  movement 
which  expressed  itself  from  the  pulpit  of 
St.  Mary's  Church  in  those  subtile  and 
searching  sermons  which  made  the  world 
aware  that  in  John  Henry  Newman  a 
man  of  distinctly  religious  genius  had 
114 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

appeared;  and  with  that  notable  revival 
of  Gothic  forms  which  a  deepened  reli- 
gious feeling  substituted  for  the  pseudo- 
classic  architecture  of  the  preceding 
century.  A  wonderfully  interesting  and 
significant  movement  of  thought  and  life 
was  that  which  associated  the  names  of 
Newman  and  Keble,  Hunt,  Millais,  and 
Rossetti,  Pugin  and  Ruskin.  But  this 
is,  after  all,  mainly  matter  of  historical 
interest;  the  real  message  which  these 
men  had  to  deliver  to  the  world  is  to  be 
sought  not  so  much  in  their  statements 
of  faith,  which  were  largely  polemic,  as 
in  the  great  works  which  are  the  only 
authentic  disclosures  of  their  genius 
and  bent.  The  men  themselves  had  no 
sooner  come  to  agreement  in  certain 
specific  matters  of  principle  or  method 
than  they  began  immediately  to  drift 
apart ;  the  law  of  life  was  upon  them  ; 
and  while  they  held  some  things  in 
common,  the  work  and  the  word  of  each 
was  to  be  the  utterance  of  individual 
insight  and  experience. 
"5 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

Of  the  seven  young  men  who  formed 
the  Pre-Raphaelite  Brotherhood  In  184.8, 
WilHam  Holman  Hunt,  John  Everett 
Millais,  and  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 
achieved  distinction  as  painters  ;  Thomas 
"Woolner  as  a  sculptor;  William  M. 
Rossetti  and  his  famous  brother,  as 
poets  ;  while  James  CoUinson  and  Fred- 
erick. George  Stephens,  either  in  promise 
or  performance,  made  good  their  claim 
to  this  illustrious  companionship.  With 
these  names  are  also  associated  others 
which  the  world  will  not  care  to  forget : 
Madox  Brown,  the  painter  of  the  Man- 
chester frescos,  William  Bell  Scott,  and 
Christina  Rossetti.  To  this  little  group 
the  Rossetti  family  furnished  three  of 
the  most  active  and  original  minds  ;  and 
of  these  three,  one  is  likely  to  remain 
the  most  memorable  exponent  of  the 
Pre-Raphaelite  movement.  Of  Gabriel 
Charles  Dante  Rossetti,  who  changed 
his  name  to  Dante  Gabriel  at  an  early 
period  in  his  career,  much  might  be  said 
by  way  of  emphasising  the  influential 
116 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

element  of  heredity.  In  blood,  as  his 
brother  tells  us,  he  was  three  fourths 
Italian  and  one  fourth  Enghsh,  "  being 
on  the  father's  side  wholly  Italian  and 
on  the  mother's  side  half  Italian  and 
half  English."  The  father  was  a 
scholar,  a  man  of  letters,  and  an  ardent 
patriot  long  before  the  days  of  the  suc- 
cessful movement  for  Italian  independ- 
ence and  nationality.  Exiled  after  the 
good  old  Bourbon  fashion,  Gabriele 
Rossetti  came  to  London  in  1824,  mar- 
ried the  daughter  of  an  English  mother 
and  an  Italian  father,  —  the  latter  a 
teacher,  translator,  and  scholar  of  ex- 
cellent quality,  —  became  Professor  of 
Italian  in  King's  College,  and  a  com- 
mentator on  Dante  of  orthodox  depth 
and  obscurity.  To  this  fugitive  scholar 
were  born  four  children,  —  Maria  Fran- 
cesca,  who  died  in  1876  ;  Dante  Gabriel ; 
William  Michael ;  and  Christina  Geor- 
gina.  A  group  so  variously  gifted  has 
rarely  gathered  round  any  fireside.  To 
Maria  Francesca  we  are  indebted  for 
117 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

"  A  Shadow  of  Dante,"  which  so  emi- 
nent a  student  of  the  great  Florentine 
as  Mr.  Lowell  has  declared  to  be  "  by 
far  the  best  comment  that  has  appeared 
in  English."  William  Michael  is  known 
to  all  readers  of  current  English  verse 
and  criticism ;  and  Christina  has  won 
high  rank  as  a  writer  of  lyrical  verse  of 
marked  individual  quality. 

Dante  Gabriel  was  born  on  May  12, 
1828,  into  an  atmosphere  charged  with 
high  and  intense  intellectual  activity. 
He  knew  the  story  of"  Hamlet  "  before 
most  children  know  the  alphabet,  and 
at  five  years  of  age  he  wrote  a  dramatic 
poem  entitled  "  The  Slave ; "  seven 
years  later  he  composed  a  series  of  still 
more  ambitious  verses  which  bore  the 
romantic  title  of  "  Sir  Hugh  the  Heron," 
and  were  probably  suggested  by  some 
lines  in  the  first  canto  of  "  Marmion." 
These  verses  have  no  interest  save  as 
they  indicate  the  precocious  activity  of 
a  mind  which  began  its  conscious  devel- 
opment with  the  advantages  of  an  excep- 
Z18 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

tional  pre-natal  education.  In  1835  ^^ 
entered  King's  College  school,  where  he 
studied  Latin,  French,  and  German ; 
Itahan  was  as  familiar  to  him  as  English. 
A  strong  desire  to  become  a  painter  led 
to  a  change  of  instruction  in  his  four- 
teenth year;  and  leaving  King's  College 
school,  he  devoted  himself  to  the  study 
of  art.  From  the  Royal  Academy  An- 
tique School  he  entered  the  studio  of 
Madox  Brown,  and  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  daring  young  innovators 
who  formed  the  Pre-Raphaelite  Brother- 
hood in  1848.  In  his  nineteenth  year 
Dante  Gabriel  wrote  the  first  verse  which 
gave  unmistakable  evidence  of  his  pos- 
session of  poetic  genius.  In  this  year 
he  produced  the  striking  lines  entitled 
"  My  Sister's  Sleep, "  in  the  metre  with 
which  "  In  Memoriam "  was  to  make 
the  world  familiar  three  years  later  ;  and 
the  most  widely  known  of  all  his  poems, 
"  The  Blessed  Damosel ; "  both  of 
which  appeared  for  the  first  time  in  the 
"Germ"  in  1850.  Of  Rossetti's  art 
119 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

work,  begun  at  this  period  and  carried 
on  to  the  close  of  his  too  brief  career, 
this  is  not  the  place  to  speak,  even  if 
it  were  within  the  power  of  the  writer  to 
characterise  and  describe  its  subtile  and 
varied  beauty  of  expression,  its  noble 
substance  of  thought,  its  splendour  and 
depth  of  imaginative  force.  It  is  suffi- 
cient to  say  that  the  two  sides  of  his 
life  endeavour  are  entirely  harmonious ; 
that  they  are  complementary  expressions 
of  a  genius  which  saw  things  as  a  whole 
with  a  glance  that  pierced  to  the  very 
soul  of  beauty  in  things  visible  and  in  a 
vision  as  rapt  and  at  times  as  ecstatic  as 
was  ever  vouchsafed  to  mystic  or  saint. 

In  the  spring  of  i860,  after  a  long 
engagement,  Rossetti  married  Elizabeth 
Eleanor  Siddal,  —  a  woman  of  poetic 
and  artistic  faculty,  of  exquisite  sensitive- 
ness of  mind  and  nature,  and  whose 
beautiful  face  will  long  remain  a  pos- 
session in  one  of  Rossetti's  most  char- 
acteristic works,  the  "  Beata  Beatrix." 
The  completeness  and  happiness  of  this 
120 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

fellowship  can  only  be  inferred  from  the 
crushing  and  lifelong  grief  which  her 
death,  early  in  1862,  brought  upon 
Rossetti.  In  the  darkness  of  that  sud- 
den and  awful  sorrow,  to  quote  the  words 
of  another,  the  poet  literally  buried  his 
wand,  and  committed  his  poems  to  the 
grave  in  which  his  wife  was  interred. 
But  neither  genius  nor  its  works  are 
private  property,  and  the  time  came 
when  the  persuasions  of  his  friends  and 
his  own  sense  of  obligation  to  his  gifts 
induced  Rossetti  to  consent  to  the  dis- 
interment of  the  manuscripts ;  and  in 
1876  his  first  volume  of  "Poems"  was 
published,  —  the  second  volume,  "  Bal- 
lads and  Sonnets,"  appearing  in  1881. 
But  the  hand  of  death  was  already  upon 
him.  Insomnia,  that  lurking  foe  in  sen- 
sitive and  highly  imaginative  tempera- 
ments, had  already  greatly  reduced  his 
working  power,  and  had  developed  a 
morbid  tendency  which  led  to  recurring 
periods  of  depression  and  to  prolonged 
seclusion  from  the  society  of  all  save  the 

121 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

most  intimate  friends.     On  Easter  Sun- 
day, April  9,  1882,  Rossetti  died. 

A  singularly  uneventful  life,  judged 
by  that  shallowest  of  conventional  stand- 
ards which  measures  the  depth  and 
breadth  of  man's  life  by  the  journeys  he 
makes,  and  the  things  which  befall  his 
estate !  Rossetti's  life  was  intensive 
rather  than  extensive ;  its  power  and 
affluence  lay  in  the  clearness  with  which 
its  own  aims  were  discerned,  and  the 
quiet  persistence  with  which  it  was  held 
to  the  lines  of  its  own  development. 
Probably  no  modern  man  has  been,  in 
one  sense,  so  detached  from  the  world  of 
his  time,  and  so  consistently  true  to  an 
ideal  which  was  the  projection  of  his  own 
soul.  That  ideal  is  clearly  disclosed  in 
the  two  arts  which  served  Rossetti  as 
interpreters  with  almost  equal  fidelity 
and  power.  No  man  has  left  a  more 
distinct  record  of  his  temperament  and 
genius,  and  there  are  few  such  records 
which  put  one  under  a  spell  more  potent, 
or  which  lead  one  on  to  the  heart  of  a 
122 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

more  enthralling  ideal.  A  man  so  sen- 
sitive and  intense  in  his  imaginative 
faculty  will  not  fall  under  the  influence 
of  a  multitude  of  antagonistic  teachers  ; 
he  will  respond  only  to  those  with  whom 
his  own  nature  has  some  spiritual  kin- 
ship. One  is  not  surprised  to  find, 
therefore,  that  Rossetti  early  discovered 
strongly  marked  intellectual  affinities, 
which  lie  so  directly  along  the  lines  of 
his  own  temperament  that,  after  study- 
ing his  work,  one  could  safely  venture  to 
name  them.  Shakespeare,  Byron,  Shel- 
ley, Coleridge,  Keats,  and  Tennyson  are 
the  natural  teachers  of  such  a  boyhood 
and  youth  as  Rossetti's  ;  and  later  one 
may  count  with  assurance  upon  the  pe- 
culiar and  potent  influence  of  Blake  and 
Browning.  There  is  one  other  name 
with  which  the  name  of  Rossetti  will  be 
associated  as  long  as  it  carries  any  power 
of  association  with  it.  Over  the  house- 
hold of  the  exiled  Italian  scholar  the 
memory  of  Dante  continually  hovered 
like  the  presence  of  the  genius  of  a  race. 
123 


'Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

The  great  Florentine  was  not  a  tradition, 
the  shadow  of  a  mighty  past,  to  the 
childhood  of  the  poet ;  he  was  a  con- 
tinual and  pervasive  influence,  pene- 
trating his  inmost  life  in  its  formative 
period,  and  leaving  in  the  mind  an 
image  as  clear  and  familiar  as  it  was  in- 
spiring. Rossetti's  personality  was  too 
strong  and  well  defined  to  yield  itself 
even  into  hands  so  puissant  as  those  of 
Dante  ;  but  between  the  two  there  was 
a  spiritual  as  well  as  a  race  kinship,  and 
the  poet  of  the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  has 
had  no  truer  interpreter  than  the  trans- 
lator of  the  "  Vita  Nuova  "  and  the  poet 
of  "  The  House  of  Life." 

Rossetti  was  extremely  fond  of  the  old 
English  and  Scotch  ballad  literature. 
For  the  Italian  poets  as  a  whole  he  cared 
little  ;  among  modern  writers  of  French 
verse  he  was  drawn  only  to  Hugo  and 
De  Musset;  his  admiration  for  Villon 
one  could  safely  have  predicted.  He 
had  little  in  common  with  the  Germans, 
whose  names  were  on  all  hps  in  the  time 
124 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

of  his  early  manhood,  although  one  can- 
not help  thinking  that  if  he  had  carried 
his  study  of  the  language  further,  he 
would  have  been  strongly  moved  by 
many  of  the  German  ballads,  and  that 
at  least  one  episode  in  "  Faust "  would 
have  touched  him  closely.  Fitzgerald's 
masterly  version  of  Calderon  interested 
him  greatly  during  the  later  years  of  his 
life.  For  Teutonic  and  Scandinavian 
myth  and  poetry  he  had  no  affinity,  and 
he  was  entirely  free  from  that  curiosity 
concerning  Oriental  thought  and  belief 
which  of  late  has  taken  possession  of  so 
many  minds,  both  great  and  small.  He 
had  none  of  that  unfruitful  and  essen- 
tially unintellectual  curiosity  which  leads 
people  to  ransack  all  literatures  and 
philosophies,  not  in  the  spirit  of  eager 
search  for  principles,  but  from  a  desire 
to  discover  some  new  thing, — a  desire 
especially  to  come  upon  some  esoteric 
knowledge,  and  thus,  by  a  single  bril- 
liant advance,  possess  themselves  of  the 
secret  of  the  universe.     Rossetti  did  not 

125 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

make  the  mistake  of  thinking  that  truth 
is  something  which  can  be  found  by 
searching;  he  understood  that  knowl- 
edge becomes  truth  only  as  we  grow 
into  it  and  make  it  ours  by  vital  assimila- 
tion. Deaf  to  all  solicitations  of  passion 
or  pleasure,  unresponsive  to  the  intel- 
lectual curiosity  of  his  time,  he  took  his 
own  way  through  life,  made  fellowship 
with  those  who  shared  with  him  the 
passion  for  the  ideal,  and  gave  his  work 
the  impress  of  a  singular  and  highly  in- 
dividual consistency  of  conception  and 
mood. 

Two  volumes  of  moderate  size  con- 
tain the  complete  work  of  Rossetti  in 
poetry,  and  one  of  these  is  made  up  of 
translations.  It  is  the  quality  rather 
than  the  quantity  of  the  work  which 
gives  it  claim  to  consideration.  We 
could  ill  afford  to  lose  any  of  the 
Shakespearean  dramas  or  of  the  longer 
poems  of  Tennyson  or  Browning ;  these 
poets  survey  and  interpret  so  wide  a 
field  of  thought  that  the  complete  ex- 
126 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

pression  of  the  genius  of  either  would 
suffer  mutilation  by  suppression  or  loss. 
But  Rossetti  was  not  in  touch  with  the 
wide  movement  of  life  ;  he  was  absorbed 
in  a  single  pursuit,  and  enthralled  by  a 
single  ideal ;  within  comparatively  nar- 
row limits  he  has  given  us  a  complete 
picture  of  the  vision  that  was  reflected 
in  the  depths  of  his  soul.  The  volume 
of  translations,  "  Dante  and  his  Circle," 
attests  not  only  his  great  familiarity  with 
the  early  Italian  poets,  but  also  his  ex- 
traordinary mastery  of  difficult  metrical 
forms.  In  his  own  verse  Rossetti  used 
few  forms,  but  they  were  among  the 
most  expressive  and  exacting;  in  his 
translations  he  showed  himself  master 
of  the  principles  of  an  art  to  the  prac- 
tice of  which  the  early  Italians  brought 
all  their  characteristic  subtilty  and  re- 
finement. This  volume  discloses  some- 
thing more  than  the  possession  of  those 
gifts  which  go  to  the  making  of  a  gen- 
uine translation ;  it  discloses  a  genius 
for  poetry  of  a  very  high  order.  No 
127 


Assays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

one  but  a  poet  worthy  of  Dante's  com- 
panionship could  have  entered  so  com- 
pletely into  the  purpose  of  the  "  Vita 
Nuova,"  and  disposed  about  the  great 
Florentine  in  such  effective  and  lumi- 
nous grouping  the  company  of  singers 
who  preceded,  accompanied,  or  im- 
mediately followed  the  master.  The 
sonnets,  canzonets,  and  lyrics,  which 
represent  the  work  of  more  than  forty 
different  writers,  are  rendered  into  Eng- 
lish with  a  fidelity  of  spirit,  beauty  of 
form,  and  melody  of  phrase  which  be- 
tray Rossetti's  double  mastery  of  Italian 
thought  and  English  speech. 

When  we  turn  to  his  own  work,  we 
find  the  subtilty  and  delicacy  of  the 
Italian  genius  still  present,  but  new 
and  personal  qualities  appear  to  attest 
the  possession  of  original  gifts  as  well 
as  of  inherited  aptitudes.  It  was  chiefly 
through  the  ballad,  the  lyric,  and  the 
sonnet  that  Rossetti  spoke  to  the 
world;  and  although  in  the  use  of 
each  of  these  forms  he  showed  at  times 

128 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

a  high  degree  of  metrical  skill,  it  will 
probably  appear  in  the  end  that  his 
genius  had  more  kinship  with  the  son- 
net than  with  cither  lyric  or  ballad, 
and  that  among  all  his  contemporaries 
his  mastery  of  this  delicate  instrument 
which  the  Italians  formed  was  most 
complete.  It  is  not  easy,  however,  to 
discriminate  between  varieties  of  form 
in  a  mass  of  work  so  full  of  deep 
poetic  emotion  and  thought  as  Ros- 
setti's.  His  ballads  grow  in  beauty 
and  power  as  we  penetrate  more  and 
more  their  often  obscure  meaning.  It 
is  not  alone  their  quaint  phraseology, 
their  archaic  turns  of  speech,  their  re- 
curring use  of  obsolete  but  picturesque 
words,  that  impress  us  with  a  sense  of 
something  not  akin  to  our  thought  or 
time;  it  is  the  mediseval  spirit  which 
pervades  them  and  gives  them  a  deep 
and  moving  spell,  a  glow  and  splen- 
dour such  as  shine  through  cloister 
windows  when  vesper  chants  are  sung. 
The  ballad  as  a  literary  form  belongs  to 
9  129 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

social  and  Intellectual  conditions  which 
have  passed  away  never  to  return ;  but 
it  still  offers  to  a  genius  like  Rossetti's 
resources  of  expression  not  to  be  found 
in  any  other  form  of  verse.  It  is  so 
nearly  akin  to  the  lyric  that  it  brings 
the  rhythmical  movement  and  thrill  of 
the  singing  note  to  the  narration  of  ob- 
jective events  and  actions  ;  and  it  is  so 
full  of  dramatic  resources  that  It  adds  to 
dlr-ectness  of  expression  the  varied  and 
contrasted  motives  of  the  drama.  It 
combines  lyrical  music  with  dramatic 
intensity  and  cumulative  force.  The 
seven  ballads  which  RossettI  wrote  il- 
lustrate the  power  and  beauty  with 
which  a  poet  of  genius  can  Inspire  a 
form  of  verse  which  has  ceased  in  a 
sense  to  be  a  natural  note  for  modern 
thought.  "Stratton  Water,"  "The 
White  Ship,"  and  "  The  King's  Trag- 
edy" approach  very  nearly  the  roman- 
tic and  historic  type  of  the  true  ballad, 
and  are  thoroughly  dramatic  In  spirit, 
although  charged  with  intense  individ- 
130 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

ualism  ;  "  Troy  Town,"  "  Eden  Bower," 
"Rose  Mary,"  and  "Sister  Helen"  be- 
long to  the  world  of  imaginative  crea- 
tion, and  are  essentially  lyrical  in  quality. 
But  it  is  easy  to  push  analysis  too  far; 
and  while  certain  broad  distinctions 
may  be  noted,  Rossetti's  conception  of 
the  subject-matter  of  his  ballads  was 
so  intense,  and  in  expression  so  readily 
rose  to  passion,  that  he  is  always 
dramatic,  while  his  sense  of  melody 
was  so  quick  that  he  is  always  lyrical 
as  well. 

These  ballads  disclose  very  fully  the 
quality  of  Rossetti's  genius  when  it  deals 
with  objective  things.  They  are  charged 
with  imaginative  power ;  one  feels  not 
so  much  the  free  and  beautiful  play  of 
the  imagination  as  in  "  The  Tempest," 
but  the  passion  and  force  of  it.  The 
imagination  has  not  dallied  with  these 
themes,  has  not  contrasted,  compared, 
and  balanced  them  with  kindred  concep- 
tions ;  it  has  pierced  to  their  very  heart, 
and  the  thrill  of  personal  anguish  and 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

agitation  is  in  them.  There  are  few 
poems  in  any  literature  so  vivid  in 
presentation,  so  rapid  in  climax,  so 
deeply  and  mysteriously  tragic  in  mo- 
tive, as  "  Sister  Helen."  It  bears  one 
on  shuddering  and  breathless  until  the 
wax  is  consumed,  the  fire  gone  out,  the 
"  white  thing "  crossed  the  threshold, 
and  the  story  told  to  its  bitter  end  in 
the  refrain : 

Lost,  lost,  all  lost,  between  hell  and  heaven. 

In  "  Rose  Mary  '*  Rossetti  not  only 
illustrates  the  depth  and  passion  of  love, 
but  still  more  clearly  the  awful  tragedy 
which  lies  locked  in  its  heart,  to  be  un- 
folded wherever  the  law  of  its  nature 
is  violated.  Those  who  find  him  essen- 
tially sensuous  will  do  well  to  study  the 
strange  and  rare  setting  which  is  given 
the  Berylstone  in  this  characteristic  bal- 
lad. But  the  most  impressive  and  prob- 
ably the  most  enduring  of  all  Rossetti's 
ballads  is  "  The  King's  Tragedy,"  —  a 
noble  work  in  which  one  of  the  most 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

dramatic  episodes  in  Scottish  history  is 
described  with  wonderful  vividness  and 
power.  The  pictorial  distinctness,  dra- 
matic movement  and  interest,  the  depth 
of  feeling  and  force  of  expression  which 
characterise  this  ballad,  place  it  in  the 
front  rank  of  modern  dramatic  verse. 
Rossetti's  use  of  the  supernatural  ele- 
ment is  nowhere  more  effective ;  the 
lines  in  which  the  first  warning  of  the 
haggard  old  woman  is  conveyed  to  the 
King  on  the  Fife  seacoast  ring  true  to 
the  very  spirit  of  the  time  and  scene ; 

And  the  woman  held  his  eyes  with  her  eyes  ; 

"  O  King,  thou  art  come  at  last ; 
But  thy  wraith  has  haunted  the  Scotish  sea 

To  my  sight  for  four  years  past. 

**  Four  years  it  is  since  first  I  met, 
'Twixt  the  Duchray  and  the  Dhu, 

A  shape  whose  feet  clung  close  in  a  shroud, 
And  that  shape  for  thine  I  knew. 

**  A  year  again,  and  on  Inchkeith  isle 

I  saw  thee  pass  in  the  breeze. 
With  the  cerecloth  risen  above  thy  feet. 

And  wound  about  thy  knees. 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

**  And  yet  a  year,  in  the  Links  of  Forth, 

As  a  wanderer  without  rest. 
Thou  cam' St  with  both  thine  arms  i'  the  shroud 

That  clung  high  up  thy  breast. 

**And  in  this  hour  I  find  thee  here. 

And  well  mine  eyes  may  note 
That  the  winding-sheet  hath  passed  thy  breast 

And  risen  around  thy  throat. 

**  And  when  I  meet  thee  again,  O  King, 

That  of  death  hast  such  sore  drouth,  — 
Except  thou  turn  again  on  this  shore,  — 
The  winding-sheet  shall  have  moved  once  more. 
And  covered  thine  eyes  and  mouth." 

Of  Rossetti's  lyrical  verse  one  poem 
has  had  the  good  or  ill  fortune  to  attain 
something  like  popularity,  —  a  popular- 
ity due,  it  is  to  be  feared,  to  its  pict- 
uresque and  quaint  phraseology  rather 
than  to  its  high  and  beautiful  imagina- 
tive quality.  "  The  Blessed  Damosel," 
written  at  nineteen,  remains  one  of  the 
most  captivating  and  original  poems  of 
the  century,  —  a  lyric  full  of  bold  and 
winning  imagery  and  charged  with  im- 
134 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

aginative  fervour  and  glow ;  a  vision 
upon  which  painter  and  poet  seemed  to 
have  wrought  with  a  single  hand ;  a 
thing  of  magical  beauty,  whose  spell  is  no 
more  to  be  analysed  than  the  beauty  of 
the  night  when  the  earliest  stars  crown 
it.  In  all  his  lyrical  work  Rossetti  re- 
veals the  peculiar  and  passionate  force 
of  his  ideas.  "The  Burden  of  Nine- 
veh "  and  "  Dante  at  Verona  "  are  nobly 
planned  and  strongly  executed.  "  The 
Last  Confession  "  reminds  one  of  Brown- 
ing in  its  subtile  development  of  mo- 
tives, its  dramatic  vigour,  its  psychologic 
insight,  and  its  flashes  of  imaginative 
beauty.  "  The  Woodspurge "  is  per- 
haps as  perfect  an  expression  of  a  poet's 
mood  as  any  piece  of  verse  extant;  it  is 
a  masterpiece  of  exact  observation.  Of 
"  The  Stream's  Secret"  Mr.  Stedman  has 
said  that  it  has  more  music  in  it  than 
any  slow  lyric  he  remembers.  The 
depth  of  Rossetti's  poetic  feeling,  the 
subtilty  of  his  conception,  and  the  deli- 
cacy and  precision  of  his  expression  are 
135 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

perhaps  best  illustrated  in  the  poem  en- 
titled "The  Sea  Limits": 


Consider  the  sea's  listless  chime: 
Time's  self  it  is,  made  audible,  — 
The  murmur  of  the  earth's  own  shell. 

Secret  continuance  sublime 

Is  the  sea's  end :  our  sight  may  pass 
No  furlong  further.      Since  time  was. 

This  sound  hath  told  the  lapse  of  time. 

No  quiet,  which  is  death's,  — it  hath 

The  mournfulness  of  ancient  life. 

Enduring  always  at  dull  strife. 
As  the  world's  heart  of  rest  and  wrath. 

Its  painful  pulse  is  in  the  sands. 

Last  utterly,  the  whole  sky  stands. 
Gray  and  not  known,  along  its  path. 

Listen  alone  beside  the  sea, 

Listen  alone  among  the  woods  ; 
Those  voices  of  twin  solitudes 

Shall  have  one  sound  alike  to  thee. 

Hark  where  the  murmurs  of  thronged  men 
Surge  and  sink  back  and  surge  again,  — 

Still  the  one  voice  of  wave  and  tree. 

Gather  a  shell  from  the  strewn  beach 
And  listen  at  its  lips  :  they  sigh 
The  same  desire  and  mystery, 
136 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

The  echo  of  the  whole  sea's  speech. 
And  all  mankind  is  thus  at  heart 
Not  anything  but  what  thou  art : 

And  Earth,  Sea,  Man,  are  all  in  each. 

The  structure  of  the  sonnet  is  at  once 
the  inspiration  and  the  despair  of  those 
who  would  range  themselves  beside 
Shakespeare  and  Milton,  Wordsworth 
and  Mrs.  Browning,  in  the  choir  of 
English  sonneteers.  Within  its  narrow 
limits  and  under  its  rigid  laws  the  great- 
est poets  have  poured  their  souls  at  full 
tide  into  forms  whose  perfection  predicts 
immortality.  This  delicate  instrument 
Rossetti  has  made  his  own,  and  after  the 
manner  of  Shakespeare,  committed  into 
its  keeping  the  secrets  of  his  inner  life. 
It  is  in  the  lines  of  the  one  hundred  and 
fifty-two  sonnets  included  in  his  pub- 
lished work  that  we  come  nearest  his 
personal  life.  He  has  given  us  an  ad- 
mirable description  of  this  form  of  verse : 

A  sonnet  is  a  moment's  monument, — 
Memorial  from  the  Soul's  eternity 
To  one  dead,  deathless  hour.     Look  that  it  be, 
»37 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

Whether  for  lustral  rite  or  dire  portent. 
Of  its  own  arduous  fulness  reverent ; 

Carve  it  in  ivory  or  in  ebony. 

As  Day  or  Night  may  rule ;  and  let  Time  see 
Its  flowering  crest  impearled  and  orient. 
A  sonnet  is  a  coin  :  its  face  reveals 

The   Soul,  —  its   converse,   to  what    Power   'tis 
due  — 
Whether  for  tribute  to  the  august  appeals 

Of  Life,  or  dower  in  Love's  high  retinue. 
It  serve  ;  or,  'mid  the  dark  wharPs  cavernous  breath. 
In  Charon's  palm  it  pay  the  toll  to  Death. 

With  this  narrow  frame  of  fourteen 
decasyllabic  lines,  divided  into  the  oc- 
tave and  the  sextet,  Rossetti  has  con- 
densed some  of  his  most  profoundly 
poetic  conceptions ;  following  the  in- 
terior law  of  the  sonnet  structure,  he 
has  carried  a  single  thought  on  the  flood 
of  a  single  emotion  to  a  swift  climax, 
from  which  the  refluent  wave  recedes  by 
a  movement  as  normal  as  that  which  lifts 
the  tides  and  sends  them  back  in  rhyth- 
mic melody  to  the  deep  from  which  they 
came.  Rossetti's  friend,  Mr.  Theodore 
Watts,  has  said  that  "for  the  carrying 
138 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

of  a  single  wave  of  emotion  in  a  single 
flow  and  return,  nothing  has  ever  been 
invented  comparable  to  the  Petrarchan 
sonnet,  with  an  octave  of  two  rhymes 
of  a  prescribed  arrangement,  and  a  sextet 
which  is  in  some  sense  free."  This  form 
served  Rossetti  as  his  type,  although  he 
uses  it  not  imitatively  but  with  the  free- 
dom and  facility  of  a  master.  The  dra- 
matic power,  the  movement  and  life  which 
he  can  introduce  within  the  compass  of 
a  sonnet,  are  well  illustrated  by  these 
lines  on  "  Mary  Magdalene  at  the  Door 
of  Simon  the  Pharisee,"  suggested  by  a 
drawing  in  which  Mary  has  left  a  festal 
procession  and  by  a  sudden  impulse 
seeks  Christ  within,  her  lover  following 
and  endeavouring  to  turn  her  back : 

Why  wilt  thou  cast  the  roses  from  thine  hdr  ? 

Nay,    be    thou    all    a    rose,  —  wreath,   lips,    and 

cheek. 
Nay,   not    this  house,  —  that   banquet-house  we 
seek  ; 
See  how  they  kiss  and  enter ;  come  thou  there. 
This  delicate  day  of  love  we  two  will  share 

Till  at  our  ear  love's  whispering  night  shall  speak. 

139 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

What,  sweet  one, — hold'st  thou  still  the  foolish 
freak  ? 
Nay,  when  I  kiss  thy  feet,  they  '11  leave  the  stair. 

Oh,  loose  me !    See'st   thou   not  my   Bridegroom's 
face 
That  draws  me  to  Him  ?     For  His  feet  my  kiss. 
My  hair,  my  tears.  He  craves  to-day ;  and  oh  1 
What  words  can  tell  what  other  day  and  place 
Shall  see  me  clasp  those  blood-stained  feet  of  His  ? 
He  needs  me,  calls  me,  loves  me  ;  let  me  go  ! 

"The  House  of  Life,"  described  as 
a  sonnet-sequence,  is  undoubtedly  the 
noblest  contribution  in  this  form  of  verse 
yet  made  to  our  literature.  It  should 
be  studied  with  Shakespeare's  sonnets 
and  with  Mrs.  Browning's  "  Sonnets 
from  the  Portuguese,"  in  order  that  its 
wealth  of  thought,  its  varied  beauty  of 
phrase,  and  its  depth  of  feeling  may  be 
comprehended.  It  tells  the  same  heart 
story,  but  in  how  different  a  key  !  The 
hundred  and  more  sonnets  which  com- 
pose it  are  a  revelation  of  the  poet's 
nature;  all  its  ideals,  its  passions,  its 
hopes  and  despairs,  its  changeful  moods, 
140 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

are  reflected  there;  and  there,  too,  a 
man's  heart  beats,  in  one  hour  with  the 
freedom  of  a  great  joy,  and  in  another 
against  the  iron  bars  of  fate. 

Rossetti  is  not,  like  Goethe,  Hugo, 
Browning,  and  Tennyson,  an  interpreter 
of  his  age ;  the  key  to  its  wide  and  con- 
fused movement  is  not  to  be  found  in 
any  work  of  his  hand.  He  heard  its 
turmoil  only  as  Michael  Angelo  may 
have  heard  the  noise  of  the  city  faintly 
borne  to  the  scaffolding  which  concealed 
the  "  Last  Judgment."  Intent  upon  his 
own  work,  the  uproar  of  life  was  only 
a  hushed  murmur  on  the  silence  in  which 
art  always  enshrines  itself.  His  was  not 
that  spiritual  puissance  which  carries  the 
repose  of  solitude  into  the  noisy  ways 
of  men  ;  recognising  his  own  limitations, 
—  if  limitations  they  were,  —  he  held 
himself  apart  and  let  the  world  go  its 
way.  That  way  was  far  from  his,  and 
to  close  most  modern  books  and  open 
upon  "The  King's  Tragedy"  or  "The 
House  of  Life  "  is  like  passing  from  the 
i4t 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

brilliant  square  electric  with  stir  and 
change,  or  the  sunny  meadow  asleep 
like  a  child  with  daisies  in  its  hands, 
into  some  depth  of  forest  awful  with  the 
mystery  of  wraith  and  vision,  or  into 
some  secluded  retreat  where  Love  hears 
no  sound  but  the  throb  of  its  own  passion, 
and  sees  no  image  save  that  one  face  whose 
compelling  beauty  is  the  mask  of  fate. 
Rossetti  was  pre-eminently  an  artist ; 
one  who  saw  the  ultimate  things  of  life, 
not  along  the  lines  of  intellectual  striving 
and  inquiry  nor  in  the  moral  disclosures 
of  action,  but  in  those  ravishing  perfec- 
tions of  form  and  being  which  seem  to 
be  finalities  because  the  imagination, 
baffled  by  their  very  completeness,  can- 
not pass  beyond.  He  was  an  artist,  not 
after  the  manner  of  Tennyson,  whose 
literary  insight  matches  itself  with  a 
melody  that  presses  fast  upon  music 
itself;  not  after  the  manner  of  Sopho- 
cles, to  whose  work  proportion  and  har- 
mony and  repose  gave  the  impress  of 
a  supreme  and  final  achievement;  but 
14a 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

after  the  fashion  of  some  of  the  mystical 
painters,  whose  vision  included  that  in- 
terior beauty  which  is  the  soul  of  visible 
things ;  which  cannot  be  formulated  nor 
analysed  nor  dissevered  from  itself  by 
an  intellectual  process,  but  is  the  pure 
product  of  intuition,  —  something  never 
to  be  demonstrated,  but  always  to  be  re- 
vealed. "The  Beautiful,"  said  Goethe, 
"is  a  primeval  phenomenon,  which  in- 
deed never  becomes  visible  itself,  but 
the  reflection  of  which  is  seen  in  a  thou- 
sand various  expressions  of  the  creative 
mind,  as  various  and  manifold  even  as 
the  phenomena  of  Nature."  This  qual- 
ity of  perception  is  so  different  from  the 
literary  faculty  as  most  poets  disclose  it 
that  it  may  almost  be  said  to  characterise 
another  order  of  mind.  Beauty  is  one 
of  the  finalities  of  creation,  and  is,  there- 
fore, unresolvable  into  its  elements; 
something  instantly  recognised,  but  van- 
ishing when  we  try  to  press  its  secret 
from  it.  Rossetti  did  not  see  beautiful 
aspects  of  things  chiefly,  or  we  could 
T-A3 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

overtake  his  mental  processes ;  he  saw- 
beauty  itself.  It  was  not  the  attributes 
but  the  quality  which  he  perceived.  He 
did  not  discern  beauty  as  one  form 
through  which  the  soul  of  things  ex- 
presses itself;  he  discerned  it  as  the  form, 
the  final  and  perfect  expression  which  is 
substantially  identical  with  the  soul.  To 
most  modern  poets  life  presents  itself 
under  a  vast  variety  of  aspects ;  the  soul 
wears  as  many  masks  as  she  has  activi- 
ties. But  to  Rossetti  there  is  no  such 
multiplicity  of  expression;  there  is  but 
a  single  face,  and  all  things  are  revealed 
therein.  To  a  man  of  this  temper,  phi- 
losophy, and  statescraft,  schools  and 
creeds,  knowledge  and  action,  the  warp 
and  woof  out  of  which  the  fabrics  of 
thought  and  art  are  commonly  woven, 
are  of  small  account;  he  may  not  dis- 
parage them,  but  he  finds  no  use  in 
them ;  he  passes  through  all  this  ap- 
pearance of  things,  so  rich  in  revelation 
to  others,  to  something  which  he  sees 
behind  them  all,  and  to  which,  if  they 
144 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

had  any  power  of  guidance,  they  could 
but  lead  him  in  the  end.  Life  is  not 
divided  for  him  into  confused  activities 
and  disconnected  phases ;  it  is  simple ; 
reveals  itself  even  in  pain ;  presses  back 
the  blackness  of  the  mystery ;  and  con- 
veys the  irrefutable  evidence  of  immor- 
tality. It  is  idle  to  speculate,  to  press 
through  effect  to  cause,  to  interrogate 
knowledge ;  the  vision  of  beauty,  once 
discerned,  does  not  forsake  the  soul,  and 
confirms  the  hope,  alien  to  no  human 
heart,  that  happiness  and  immortality 
are  one  and  the  same : 

Nay,    come   up   hither.     From    this   wave-washed 
mound 
Unto  the  furthest  flood-brim  look  with  me  ; 
Then  reach  on  with  thy  thought  till  it  be  drown' d. 

Miles  and  miles  distant  though  the  last  line  be. 
And     though    thy    soul    sail  leagues     and    leagues 
beyond, — 
Still,  leagues  beyond  those  leagues,  there  is  more 
sea. 

The  beauty  of  the  universe,  which  to 
Rossetti  was  both  law  and  revelation  of 
"  145 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

life,  was  not  that  fair  appearance  of  things 
which  the  Greeks  loved  with  a  joy  born 
of  a  sense  of  kinship  with  the  thing  we 
love;  nor  was  it  that  pale,  unworldly 
vision  which  enthralled  some  of  the  early 
mediaeval  painters.  It  was  a  beauty  to 
which  nothing  is  foreign  which  life  con- 
tains ;  it  was  in  the  most  sensuous  and 
the  most  spiritual  things ;  it  lay  open  to 
all  eyes  on  the  meanest  flower,  and  it 
was  hidden  in  the  most  obscure  symbol. 
It  led  up  from  the  throb  of  passion, 
from  eyes  and  lips  wholly  of  the  earth, 
through  all  visible  things,  to  that  great 
white  rose  in  which  the  vision  of  Dante 
rested  in  Paradise.  It  pervades  all 
things  and  yet  is  not  contained  by 
them. 

Hers  are  the  eyes  which,  over  and  beneath. 

The  sky  and  sea  bend  on  thee  ;  which  can  draw. 
By  sea  or  sky  or  woman,  to  one  law. 

The  allotted  bondman  of  her  palm  and  wreath. 

Plato    discerned   this    conception    of 
beauty  as  an  ideal  which  reveals  itself 
146 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

under  all  forms  to  its  worshipper :  "  He 
that  gazed  so  earnestly  on  what  things 
in  that  holy  place  were  to  be  seen,  —  he, 
when  he  discerns  on  earth  some  godlike 
countenance  or  fashion  of  body,  that 
counterfeits  Beauty  well,  first  of  all  he 
trembles,  and  then  comes  over  him 
something  of  the  fear  which  erst  he 
knew ;  but  then,  looking  on  that  earthly 
beauty,  he  worships  it  as  divine,  and  if 
he  did  not  fear  the  reproach  of  utter 
madness,  he  would  sacrifice  to  his  heart's 
idol  as  to  the  image  and  presence  of  a 
God." 

To  one  who  is  possessed  by  this  pas- 
sion, life  does  not  cease  to  be  perplex- 
ing, to  be  a  mystery  of  unfathomable 
depth ;  but  it  ceases  to  press  its  ques- 
tions for  instant  answer,  it  ceases  to 
paralyse  by  its  uncertainty;  the  runner 
is  not  oblivious  of  the  shadows  that 
surround  and  pursue  him,  but  he  thinks 
chiefly  of  the  vision  which  draws  him 
through  works  and  days  with  irresistible 
insistence : 

-^17 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

Under  the  arch  of  life,  where  love  and  death. 
Terror  and  mystery,  guard  her  shrine,  I  saw 
Beauty    enthroned  ;  and  though   her  gaze   struck 
awe, 

I  drew  it  in  as  simply  as  my  breath. 

This  is  that  Lady  Beauty,  in  whose  praise 

Thy  voice  and  hand  shake  still,  —  long  known  to 

thee 
By  flying  hair  and  fluttering  hem,  —  the  beat. 
Following  her  daily,  of  thy  heart  and  feet. 

How  passionately  and  irresistibly. 

In  what  fond  flight,  how  many  ways  and  days. 

It  was  this  passion  which  made  Rossetti's 
life  one  long,  eager  pursuit,  which  gives 
his  art,  whether  in  painting  or  in  verse, 
the  sense  of  something  just  beyond  his 
grasp,  a  presence  hovering  forever  before 
him  and  receding  as  he  advances.  This 
ideal  became  most  clear  to  him,  not 
through  the  myriad  aspects  of  nature, 
but  in  a  woman's  face ;  it  was  not  a  mere 
appearance  of  beauty,  it  was  a  soul  reveal- 
ing itself;  it  was  life  removing  its  masks 
of  shame  and  indignity  and  discovering 
its  divine  loveliness.  Like  the  Beatrice 
148 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

of  Dante's  vision,  this  face  looked 
through  and  interpreted  all  his  experi- 
ences. All  the  passion  of  his  soul  sets 
like  a  mighty  tide  toward  this  object  of 
mystical  adoration ;  all  forms  of  human 
expression,  the  most  familiar,  the  most 
intimate,  the  most  intense,  the  most 
sensuous,  are  charged  with  the  flow  of 
his  emotion  and  cannot  contain  it.  It 
ceases  to  be  a  pursuit ;  it  becomes  a  life. 
There  is  one  other  word  yet  to  be 
spoken  which  describes  this  enthralling 
passion.  One  must  go  back  to  Plato 
and  study  the  "  Phaedrus "  and  the 
**  Symposium,"  one  must  steep  his  mind 
in  the  mystical  thought  of  Dante,  to 
understand  all  that  love  meant  to  Ros- 
setti. It  meant  the  consummation  and 
fulfilment  of  all  that  life  promised  and 
prophesied  ;  it  meant  that  final  state  of 
being  in  which  knowledge  and  experience 
and  action  find  their  eternal  fruition: 

Not  I  myself  know  all  my  love  for  thee  : 

How  should  I  reach  so  far,  who  cannot  weigh 
To-morrow's  dower  by  gage  of  yesterday  i^ 
149 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

Shall  birth  and  death,  and  all  dark  names  that  be 
As  doors  and  windows  bared  to  some  loud  sea. 

Lash  deaf  my  ears  and  blind  my  face  with  spray ; 

And  shall  my  sense  pierce  love,  —  the  last  relay 
And  ultimate  outpost  of  eternity  ? 

Before  time  was,  love  was,  Rossetti 
tells  us  in  those  deep  and  tender  lines 
entitled  "  Sudden  Light ;  "  after  time 
ends  it  shall  be,  or  else  the  Blessed 
Damosel  leans  in  vain  from  the  golden 
bar  of  heaven.  Love  is  "  the  interpreter 
and  mediator  between  God  and  man;'* 
only  through  loving  do  we  come  to  full 
knowledge,  only  in  loving  do  we  taste 
eternal  life.  To  this  great  passion  of 
the  soul  all  knowledge  is  tributary  and 
instrumental ;  to  know  is  not  the  con- 
summation, but  to  love.  The  great 
process  of  life,  therefore,  involves  not 
only  knowledge  and  action,  but  the  soul ; 
changes  one  from  a  spectator  or  student 
of  its  phenomena  into  a  rapt  and  tireless 
seeker  of  the  ideal.  The  senses,  the 
intellect,  relations  of  every  sort  and  kind, 
reveal  the  object  and  develop  the  inten- 
150 


Poetry  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 

sily  of  this  pursuit.  One  is  possessed 
by  a  mighty  thirst  which  nothing  can  as- 
suage save  that  supreme  surrender  of 
self  in  which  love  finds  its  opportunity 
and  discloses  its  power.  This  conception 
is  essentially  mystical;  its  speech  is  eso- 
teric, but  when  one  translates  it  into  prose, 
it  is  true  to  the  deepest  facts  of  life.  It 
formulates  no  code  of  morals,  but  its 
eternal  test  is  purity  and  truth ;  sacrifice 
and  surrender ;  the  passion  of  the  soul 
which  counts  all  things  well  lost  if  only 
it  becomes  one  with  the  Infinite  Love. 
This  is  the  passion  which  expands  the 
vast  symphony  of  life  out  of  a  single 
theme,  and  presses  from  every  note,  how- 
ever sensuous  in  tone,  a  pure  and  lofty 
music.  Of  the  large  element  of  truth  in 
this  conception  there  can  be  no  question 
even  by  those  who  crave  a  different  and 
more  distinctively  spiritual  expression. 
To  the  sensuous  alone  can  "  The  House 
of  Life  "  be  sensuous ;  it  is  to  be  inter- 
preted as  akin  with  the  "  Vita  Nuova ;  " 
the  same  mood  runs  through  both,  al- 
151 


'  Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

though  one  is  the  word  of  an  artist  and 
the  other  the  vision  of  a  prophet.  Beauty 
as  the  finahty  of  expression,  love  as  the 
finality  of  being,  —  these  are  the  truths 
that  give  all  Rossetti's  works  and  words 
a  noble  unity  and  consistency  of  aim  and 
achievement. 


iS« 


Chapter  V 

Robert  Browning 

THE  best  minds  still  hold  the  old 
conception  of  poetry  as  a  revela- 
tion, as  containing  something  more  and 
something  greater  than  the  individual 
poet  intended  or  even  comprehended 
when  the  creative  impulse  and  energy 
possessed  him.  The  story  he  told,  the 
song  he  sang,  convey  more  than  the  defi- 
nite truth,  the  striking  incident,  the  in- 
spiring vision  ;  they  disclose  the  deeper 
mind  of  the  singer  in  his  conscious  and 
unconscious  relations  to  his  time  and  to 
universal  life.  It  is  quite  conceivable 
that  in  one  sense  the  critics  have  found 
more  in  "  Faust "  than  Goethe  con- 
sciously embodied  in  that  marvellous 
drama  of  human  experience.  Clearly  as 
the  great  German  had  thought  his  way 
through  all  knowledge,  and.  thoroughly 
as  he  had  rationalised  his  life,  there  were 
153 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

forces  in  his  nature  whose  momentum 
and  tendency  he  never  understood  ;  there 
were  depths  in  his  habitual  meditation 
which  he  never  sounded.  His  relation 
to  his  own  time  and  the  character  and 
movement  of  that  time  were  matters  of 
frequent  and  searching  thought  to  him  ; 
and  yet  in  the  age  and  in  his  part  in  it 
there  was  much  that  was  invisible  or  ob- 
scure to  him.  There  is  in  "Faust"  a 
revelation  of  the  time  through  its  most 
sensitive  personality,  of  which,  in  the 
nature  of  things,  the  poet  was  for  the 
most  part  unconscious.  This  fact  does 
not  diminish  the  greatness  of  such  an 
achievement  as  the  writing  of  a  classic 
drama ;  it  simply  recalls  the  supplemen- 
tary fact  that  as  every  work  of  art  dis- 
closes relations  to  universal  principles  and 
to  an  historical  development,  so  every 
artist  discovers  certain  far-reaching  and 
highly  significant  spiritual  and  intellect- 
ual affinities,  which  are  so  completely  a 
part  of  himself  that  he  never  separates 
them  in  consciousness. 
154 


Robert  Browning 

The  poet,  by  a  law  of  his  nature,  is 
compelled  to  open  his  heart  to  us  ;  when 
he  plans  to  conceal  himself  most  securely, 
he  is  making  the  thing  he  would  hide 
most  clear  to  us.  Shakespeare  is  the 
most  impersonal  of  poets,  and  yet  no 
poet  has  made  us  understand  more  clearly 
the  conditions  under  which,  in  his  view, 
this  human  life  of  ours  is  lived  j  while 
of  Byron,  who 

bore 

With  haughty  scorn  which  mock'd  the  smart. 

Through  Europe  to  the  ^tolian  shore 

The  pageant  of  his  bleeding  heart, 

and  of  many  another  of  his  temperament, 
we  possess  the  fullest  and  most  trust- 
worthy knowledge.  But  the  poet  tells 
our  secret  as  frankly  as  he  tells  his  own. 
We  are  irresistibly  drawn  to  him,  not 
only  because  he  gives  us  his  view  of 
things,  the  substance  of  his  personal  life, 
but  because  he  makes  ourselves  clear 
and  comprehensible  to  us.  It  is  our 
thought  in  his  words  which  has  such 
power   to  bring   back   the  vision  which 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

has  faded  off  the  horizon  of  life  and  left 
it  bare  and  empty  ;  to  restore  the  vigour 
of  faith  and  the  clearness  of  insight  which 
have    failed    us    because   we    have    not 
trusted  them.     It  is  this  restoration  of 
our  truest  selves  to  us  which  gives  the 
great   poets   such  power   over   us,    and 
makes  their  great  works  at  once  so  re- 
mote   and   so    familiar.       In    its    most 
characteristic  singers,  each  age  finds  itself 
searched  to  the  very  bottom  of  its  con- 
sciousness.    The  scientists  tell  us  some- 
thing of  our  time,  the  philosophers,  the 
critics,  and  the  writers  of  discursive  mind 
more ;   but   the   poet  alone   knows    the 
secret  of  its  joys  or  its  sorrows,  its  activ- 
ity or  its  repose,  its  progress  or  its  retro- 
gression.    All  these  things  enter  vitally 
into  his  life  ;  and  in  giving  expression  to 
his  own  thought,  he  gives  them  form  and 
substance.     We  learn  more  of  the  heart 
of  mediaevalism  from  Dante  than  from 
all  the  historians ;  more  of  the  England 
of    Elizabeth    from     Shakespeare    than 
from  all  the  chroniclers ;  and  the  future 
156 


Robert  Browning 

will  find  the  essential  character  of  the 
America  of  the  last  half-century  more 
clearly  revealed  in  Emerson  and  Lowell 
and  Whitman  than  in  all  the  industrious 
recorders  who  were  their  less  penetrating 
contemporaries. 

Robert  Browning  offers  us  a  double 
revelation :  he  discloses  the  range  and 
the  affinities  of  his  own  nature  and  the 
large  and  significant  thought  of  his  time 
concerning  those  matters  which  form  the 
very  substance  of  its  life.  Burns  drove 
his  ploughshare  through  his  own  native 
soil,  singing  as  he  went,  and  the  daisy 
blossomed  in  the  furrow,  and  the  lark 
sang  overhead ;  but  Browning  takes  the 
whole  world  as  his  field,  and  harvests 
every  sort  of  product  which  goes  to  the 
sustenance  of  men.  A  poet  of  such  wide 
range  and  such  wellnigh  universal  insight 
demands  much  of  his  readers,  and  must 
wait  patiently  for  their  acceptance  of  his 
claims.  He  offers  that  which  necessi- 
tates a  peculiar  training  before  it  can  be 
received.  The  Greeks  held  it  dangerous 
'57 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

to  accept  gifts  from  the  gods;  even  at 
the  altar,  men  must  give  as  well  as  re- 
ceive if  their  relations  with  the  Invisible 
and  the  Eternal  are  to  be  moral  and  self- 
respecting.  They  only  truly  worship  in 
whom  something  responds  to  the  Divine, 
and  comprehends  it.  In  the  same  way 
the  great  thinkers  and  artists  compel  a 
certain  preparation  in  those  to  whom  they 
would  communicate  that  which  is  incom- 
municable save  to  kindred  insight  and 
sympathy.  The  flower  by  the  wayside 
discovers  its  superficial  loveliness  to  every 
eye ;  but  they  are  few  to  whom  it  dis- 
closes its  identity  with  the  universal 
beauty  which  makes  it  akin  with  the 
flight  of  birds  and  the  splendour  of  stars. 
It  is  only  by  degrees  that  the  most  sym- 
pathetic minds  enter  into  the  fundamental 
conceptions  of  life  and  the  universe  which 
another  has  reached  as  the  result  of  long 
and  eager  thinking  and  living.  The 
more  fundamental  and  vital  those  con- 
ceptions are,  the  more  tardy  will  be  their 
complete  recognition  bv  others.  A  swift, 
158' 


Robert  Browning 

alert,  acute  mind  like  Voltaire's  makes 
all  its  processes  clear,  and  the  result 
of  its  activity,  varied  as  it  may  be,  is 
soon  measured  and  ascertained;  but  a 
profound,  vital  intellect  like  Herder's, 
entering  into  the  living  processes  of 
Nature  and  of  history,  finds  little  sym- 
pathy and  less  comprehension  until,  by 
the  slow  and  painful  education  of  a  gen- 
eral movement  of  mind,  the  range  and 
value  of  its  contribution  to  human 
thought  are  understood.  We  have  al- 
ready exhausted  Voltaire ;  but  the  most 
intelligent  and  open-minded  student  of 
modern  life  and  thought  still  finds  in 
Herder  hints  of  movements  which  are 
yet  to  touch  our  intellectual  lives  with 
fresh  impulse,  —  thoughts  which  are  un- 
lighted  torches  waiting  for  the  hand 
strong  enough  to  ignite  and  bear  them 
forward. 

If  Browning's  genius  has  remained  long 

unrecognised  and  unhonoured  among  his 

contemporaries,  the    frequent    harshness 

and   obscurity   of    his   expression   must 

159 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

not  bear  the  whole  responsibility.  His 
thought  holds  so  much  that  is  novel, 
so  much  that  is  as  yet  unadjusted  to 
knowledge,  art,  and  actual  living,  that 
Its  complete  apprehension  even  by  the 
most  open-minded  must  be  slow  and 
long  delayed.  No  English  poet  ever 
demanded  more  of  his  readers,  and 
none  has  ever  had  more  to  give  them. 
Since  Shakespeare  no  maker  of  English 
verse  has  seen  life  on  so  many  sides, 
entered  into  it  with  such  intensity  of 
sympathy  and  imagination,  and  pierced 
it  to  so  many  centres  of  its  energy  and 
motivity.  No  other  has  so  completely 
mastered  the  larger  movement  of  mod- 
ern thought  on  the  constructive  side,  or 
so  deeply  felt  and  so  adequately  inter- 
preted the  modern  spirit.  It  is  signifi- 
cant of  his  insight  into  the  profounder 
relations  of  things  that  Browning  has 
also  entered  with  such  characteristic 
thoroughness  of  intellectual  and  spir- 
itual kinship  into  Greek  and  Italian 
thought;  has  rendered  the  serene  and 
1 60 


Robert  Browning 

noble  beauty  of  the  one  into  forms  as 
obviously  true  and  sincere  as  "  Cleon," 
and  the  subtile  and  passionate  genius  of 
the  other  into  forms  as  characteristic  as 
"  The  Ring  and  the  Book." 

A  mind  capable  of  dealing  at  first  hand 
with  themes  so  diverse  evidently  possesses 
the  key  to  that  universal  movement  of 
life  in  which  all  race  activities  and  his- 
tories are  included,  not  by  violent  and 
arbitrary  adjustment  of  differences,  but 
by  insight  into  those  deep  and  vital  re- 
lations which  give  history  its  continuity 
of  revelation  and  its  unity  of  truth.  It 
is  a  long  road  which  stretches  from  the 
CEdipus  of  Sophocles  to  "  Pippa  Passes ;" 
but  if  Browning's  conception  of  life  is 
true,  it  is  a  highway  worn  by  the  feet  of 
marching  generations,  and  not  a  series 
of  alien  and  antagonistic  territories,  each 
unrelated  to  the  other.  The  continuity 
of  civilisation  and  of  the  life  of  the 
human  spirit,  widening  by  an  inevitable 
and  healthful  process  of  growth  and  ex- 
pansion, evidently  enters  into  all  his 
"  i6i 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

thought,  and  gives  it  a  certain  repose 
even  in  the  intensity  of  passionate  utter- 
ance. Whatever  decay  of  former  ideals 
and  traditions  his  contemporaries  may 
discover  and  lament.  Browning  holds  to 
the  general  soundness  and  wholesome- 
ness  of  progress,  and  finds  each  succes- 
sive stage  of  growth  not  antagonistic 
but  supplementary  to  those  which  have 
preceded  it.  His  view  of  life  involves 
the  presence  of  those  very  facts  and 
tendencies  which  a  less  daring  and  less 
penetrating  spiritual  insight  finds  full 
of  disillusion  and  bitterness.  Though 
all  the  world  turn  pessimist,  this  singer 
will  still  drink  of  the  fountain  of  joy, 
and  trace  the  courses  of  the  streams 
that  flow  from  it  by  green  masses  of 
foliage  and  the  golden  glory  of  fruit. 
To  carry  in  one's  soul  the  memory  of 
what  Greece  was  and  wrought  in  her 
imperishable  arts,  the  memory  of  the 
mighty  stir  which  broke  the  sod  of 
mediaevalism  and  reclaimed  the  world 
for  the  springtide  of  the  Renaissance, 
162 


Robert  Browning 

and  yet  to  live  serenely  in  perpetual 
presence  of  the  Ideal  in  our  confused 
and  turbulent  modern  life,  involves  a 
more  fundamental  insight  than  most  of 
our  poets  possess.  For  the  majority 
safety  is  to  be  found  only  in  tillage 
of  the  acres  that  lie  warm  and  familiar 
under  a  native  sky ;  to  travel  among 
strange  races  and  hear  strange  tongues, 
confuses,  perplexes,  and  paralyses ;  the 
world  is  too  vast  for  them.  Life  has 
expanded  so  immeasurably  on  all  sides 
that  only  the  strongest  spirits  can  safely 
give  themselves  up  to  it.  Of  these  sov- 
ereign natures  it  is  Browning's  chief  dis- 
tinction that  he  is  one ;  that  he  asserts 
and  sustains  the  mastery  of  the  soul 
over  all  knowledge ;  that  instead  of  be- 
ing overwhelmed  by  the  vastness  of 
modern  life,  he  rejoices  in  it  as  the 
swimmer  rejoices  when  he  feels  the  fath- 
omless sea  buoyant  to  his  stroke,  and 
floats  secure,  the  abysses  beneath  and 
the  infinity  of  space  overhead.  No  bet- 
ter service  certainly  can  the  greatest 
163 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

mind  render  humanity  to-day  than  just 
this  calm  reassurance  of  its  sovereignty 
in  a  universe  whose  growing  immensity 
makes  the  apparent  insignificance  ot  man 
so  painfully  evident;  no  prophet  could 
bring  to  us  a  message  so  charged  with 
consolation  as  this.  To  see  clearly  and 
love  intensely  whatever  was  just  and  no- 
ble and  ideal  in  the  past ;  to  understand 
the  inevitable  changes  that  have  come 
over  the  thoughts  and  lives  of  men ;  to 
discern  a  unity  of  movement  through 
them  all ;  to  find  a  deepening  of  soul  in 
art  and  life ;  to  bear  knowledge  and 
know  that  it  is  subordinate  to  character  ; 
to  look  the  darkest  facts  in  the  face,  and 
discern  purpose  and  love  in  them ;  to 
hold  the  note  of  triumph  and  hope 
amid  the  discordant  cries  of  terror  and 
perplexity  and  despair,  —  this  is  what 
Browning  has  done ;  and  for  this  service, 
no  matter  what  we  think  of  his  art,  those 
who  are  wise  enough  to  know  what  such 
a  service  involves  will  not  withhold  the 
sincerest  recognition. 
164 


Robert  Browning 

Poetry  is  always  a  personal  interpreta- 
tion of  life,  —  an  interpretation,  that  is, 
which  reveals  truth  through  a  personal- 
ity. For  purposes  of  literature  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  impersonal  or  abstract 
truth  ;  that  which  through  the  medium 
of  language  makes  the  expression  or  em- 
bodiment of  truth  literature,  is  always 
the  presence  of  the  personal  element. 
The  same  truths  in  the  hands  of  Spencer 
and  of  Tennyson  will  take  on  widely  dif- 
ferent forms :  the  scientist  will  give  his 
statement  clearness,  precision,  definite  re- 
lation to  kindred  facts ;  the  poet  will  suf- 
fuse his  verse  with  imagination,  suggest 
the  universal  relationship  of  his  truth, 
and  stamp  his  expression  with  the  in- 
definable something  which  we  call  lit- 
erature. If  we  define  this  intangible 
something  as  style,  we  have  really  added 
nothing  to  our  knowledge;  for  in  the 
last  analysis,  style,  as  BufFon  long  ago 
said,  is  the  man.  Turn  the  thought  of 
the  greatest  poets  —  Sophocles,  Dante, 
or  Shakespeare  —  into  your  own  prose, 
165 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

and  you  will  have  a  valuable  residuum 
of  truth  ;  but  the  quality  which  made 
that  truth  literature  has  somehow  es- 
caped. You  have  kept  the  thought ; 
but  Sophocles,  Dante,  and  Shakespeare 
have  slipped  through  your  fingers. 

The  correspondence  between  Goethe 
and  Carlyle  shows  the  German  poet 
meditating  on  a  world-literature.  Such 
a  literature  would  be  produced,  not  by 
the  impersonal  expression  of  universal 
ideas  and  aspirations,  but  by  the  clear  and 
noble  utterance  of  powerful  personalities 
of  the  very  substance  of  whose  life  these 
things  should  be  part.  The  individual 
genius  of  the  artist  must  always  make 
universal  beauty  evident  to  us  ;  and  in 
literature  personal  insight  and  power 
must  always  interpret  truth  to  us. 
Those  writers  who  are  predicting  the 
decline  of  literature  in  the  growing  in- 
fluence of  science  overlook  one  of  the 
most  profound  and  permanent  processes 
in  Nature.  Their  conception  of  the  re- 
lation of  the  soul  to  its  environment  is 
i66 


Robert  Browning 

radically  defective  in  that  it  fails  to  take 
into  account  that  deepest  and  richest  of 
all  the  methods  by  which  truth  flows 
into  and  enriches  the  common  life  of 
humanity  as  the  sun  pours  its  vitality 
into  and  enlarges  the  life  of  the  earth,  — 
that  method  by  which,  in  the  simple  ex- 
perience of  living,  truth  is  continually 
revealed  and  made  clear  to  individual 
men  and  women.  Life  is  fed  by  unseen 
streams  quite  as  fully  and  constantly  as 
by  those  streams  whose  courses  science 
traces  with  admirable  precision  and  ac- 
curacy. There  are  certain  truths  which 
never  came  by  observation,  which  have 
found  their  way  into  the  universal  con- 
sciousness through  the  secret  experiences 
of  countless  personalities.  Life  itself,  in 
all  its  multiplied  forms,  —  love,  suffer- 
ing, desire,  aspiration,  satiety,  anguish, 
death,  —  is  the  greatest  teacher  of  men. 
These  experiences  have  more  for  us  than 
we  shall  ever  find  in  the  textbooks  ;  they 
penetrate  us  with  their  obscure  and  ter- 
rible lessons,  —  obscure  until  we  slowly 
J67 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

grow  into  harmony  with  them,  terrible 
until  we  discover  that  this  education 
alone  makes  us  masters  of  ourselves. 
The  potter  does  not  hold  the  vessel  on 
the  wheel  hour  after  hour,  under  an  ir- 
resistible pressure,  without  disclosing,  in 
curve  and  line,  something  of  his  design  ; 
and  humanity  has  not  been  held  under 
the  terrible  pressure  of  the  conditions  of 
its  life  without  reproducing,  by  a  process 
of  which  it  was  unconscious,  the  gen- 
eral lines  of  the  purpose  which  is  being 
wrought  out  through  it.  Profounder 
truth  has  come,  unaware  and  invisibly, 
into  human  thought,  through  the  pres- 
sure of  circumstances  and  the  struggle 
of  mere  living  upon  soHtary  and  isolated 
individual  lives  than  through  the  activity 
of  the  observing  and  rationalising  facul- 
ties. God  pours  himself  into  individual 
souls  as  Nature  pours  herself  into  indi- 
vidual plants  and  trees. 

This  truth  once  clearly  comprehended, 
the  place  and  value  of  personality  in  life 
and  art  are  plain  enough.     Life  is  the 
i68 


Robert  Browning 

one  great  fact  which  art  is  always  en- 
deavouring to  express  and  illustrate  and 
interpret ;  and  art  is  the  supreme  and 
final  form  in  which  life  is  always  striv- 
ing to  utter  itself  Greek  art  was,  within 
its  limitations,  nobly  complete,  because 
Greek  life  attained  a  full  and  adequate 
development ;  and  Greek  life  being  what 
it  was,  the  beauty  and  harmony  of  Greek 
art  were  inevitable.  The  truths  and 
forces  which  determine  the  quality  of 
life  are  always  wrought  out,  or  find 
channels  for  themselves,  through  indi- 
viduals ;  and  the  individual  tempera- 
ment, adaptation,  genius,  always  adds  to 
the  expression  of  truth  that  quality 
which  transforms  it  into  art.  Now,  of 
this  subtile  relation  of  personality  to  life 
and  art  Browning  has,  of  all  modern 
poets,  the  clearest  and  most  fruitful 
understanding.  It  is  involved  in  his 
fundamental  conception  of  life  and  art ; 
and  in  its  illustration  his  genius  has  lav- 
ished its  resources.  The  general  order 
of  things,  no  less  than  the  isolated  indi- 
169 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

vidual  experience,  becomes  comprehen- 
sible to  him  when  it  is  seen  that  through 
personality  the  universe  reveals  itself, 
and  in  the  high  and  final  development 
of  personality  the  universe  accomplishes 
the  immortal  work  for  which  the  shining 
march  of  its  suns  and  the  ebb  and  flow 
of  its  vital  tides  were  ordained. 

To  say  this  is  to  say  that  Browning  is 
a  philosopher  as  well  as  a  poet,  and  that 
his  verse,  instead  of  lending  itself  to  the 
lyric  utterance  of  isolated  emotion,  be- 
comes the  medium  through  which  the 
universal  harmony  of  things  is  translated 
into  song.  It  would  not  be  difficult  to 
indicate  the  sources  from  which  Brown- 
ing has  received  intellectual  impulses  of 
the  highest  importance ;  but  his  thought 
of  life  as  it  lies  revealed  in  his  work, 
although  allied  to  morQ  than  one  system, 
is  essentially  his  own.  Of  all  English 
poets  he  is  the  most  difficult  to  classify, 
and  his  originality  as  a  thinker  is  no  less 
striking.  It  is  true  of  him,  as  of  most 
great  thinkers,  that  his  real  contribution 
170 


Robert  Browning 

to  our  common  fund  of  thought  lies  not 
so  much  in  the  disclosure  of  entirely 
new  truths  as  in  fresh  and  fruitful  ap- 
plication of  truths  already  known;  in  a 
survey  of  life  complete,  adequate,  and 
altogether  novel  in  the  clearness  and 
harmony  with  which  a  few  fundamental 
conceptions  are  shown  to  be  sovereign 
throughout  the  whole  sphere  of  being. 
It  is  not  too  much  to  say  of  Browning 
that  of  all  English  poets  he  has  ration- 
alised life  most  thoroughly.  In  the 
range  of  his  interests  and  the  scope  of 
his  thought  he  is  a  man  of  Shakespear- 
ean mould.  If  his  art  matched  Shake- 
speare's, we  should  have  in  him  the 
realisation  of  Emerson's  dream  of  the 
poet-priest,  "  a  reconciler,  who  shall  not 
trifle  with  Shakespeare  the  player,  nor 
shall  grope  in  graves  with  Swedenborg 
the  mourner ;  but  who  shall  see,  speak, 
and  act  with  equal  inspiration." 

The  philosopher  in  Browning  some- 
times usurps  the  functions  of  the  artist ; 
and  the  thought  misses  that  flash  and 
171 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

play  of  the  shaping  imagination  which 
would  have  given  it  the  elusive  poetic 
quality.  But  for  the  most  part  it  is  the 
artist  who  deals  with  the  crude  mate- 
rials of  life  and  gives  them,  not  plastic, 
but  dramatic  unity  and  beauty.  Other 
poets  give  us  glimpses  of  the  highest 
truth ;  Browning  gives  something  near 
a  complete  vision  of  it.  Shelley  sum- 
mons the  elemental  forces  out  of  the 
formless  depths,  and  they  pass  before 
us  —  ocean,  sky,  wind,  and  cloud  —  as 
they  passed  by  Prometheus  ages  ago ; 
Keats  recalls  the  vanished  loveliness  "  of 
marble  men  and  maidens  overwrought, 
with  forest  branches  and  the  trodden 
weed ;  "  Wordsworth  matches  the  even- 
ing star,  moving  solitary  along  the 
edges  of  the  hills,  with  a  phrase  as 
pure  and  high.  But  in  Browning's 
wide  outlook  all  these  partial  visions 
are  included.  He  too  can  brood,  with 
Paracelsus,  over  the  invisible  and  fath- 
omless sea  of  force,  on  whose  bosom  our 
little  world  floats  like  the  shining  crest 
172 


Robert  Browning 

of  a  wave ;  he  too,  with  Cleon,  can  sum- 
mon back  that  perfection  of  form  whose 
secret  perished  with  the  hands  that  could 
illustrate  but  never  reveal  it;  he  too, 
with  David,  borne,  he  knows  not  how, 
from  the  vision  of  the  far-off  Christ,  can 
feel  Nature  throbbing  with  the  beat  of 
his  own  heart,  and  the  very  stars  tingling 
in  the  sudden  and  limitless  expansion  of 
his  own  consciousness.  If  in  all  these 
varied  insights  and  experiences  he  fails 
to  secure  the  perfection  of  form  with 
which  each  great  poet  matches  his  pe- 
culiar and  characteristic  message,  there  is 
certainly  compensation  in  the  immensity 
of  outlook  which  includes  these  isolated 
scenes  as  a  great  landscape  holds  within 
its  limits  fertile  field  and  sterile  barren- 
ness, glimpse  of  sea  and  depth  of  forest, 
familiar  village  street  and  remote  moun- 
tain fastness,  losing  something  of  definite- 
ness  and  beauty  of  detail  from  each,  but 
gaining  the  sublimity  and  completeness 
of  half  a  continent. 

Browning's  life  and  work  were  never 
173 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

at  odds,  nor  was  there  ever  any  serious 
change  in  his  methods  and  principles. 
Born  in  1812,  he  published  his  first 
poem,  "Pauline,"  in  1832,  at  the  age 
of  twenty.  From  that  time  until  the 
year  of  his  death  there  came  an  almost 
unbroken  series  of  works  from  his  hand ; 
they  appeared  at  irregular  intervals,  but 
they  evidently  represent  a  continuous 
and  harmonious  unfolding  of  his  life. 
He  did  not  begin  by  trying  his  hand 
at  various  instruments,  searching  for 
that  which  should  match  his  native 
gifts ;  nor  did  he  grope  among  differ- 
ent themes  for  one  that  should  vitalise 
his  imagination.  On  the  contrary,  the 
dramatic  quality  of  his  genius  discovers 
itself  in  "  Pauline,""  from  which,  by  a 
natural  development,  both  the  drama 
and  the  monologue  of  later  years  were 
evolved ;  while  in  the  matter  of  themes 
it  is  clear  that  he  never  waited  for  the 
fitting  and  inspiring  motive,  but  vital- 
ised, by  the  virile  force  of  his  own  na- 
ture, such  subjects  as  came  to  hand. 
174 


Robert  Browning 

Following  the  course  of  his  develop- 
ment from  "  Pauline "  through  the 
dramas,  the  lyrics,  the  monologues, 
"  The  Ring  and  the  Book,"  to  "  Aso- 
lando,"  no  student  of  Browning  can 
mistake  the  great  lines  of  his  thought, 
nor  fail  to  see  that  thought  expanded 
out  of  thought  until  there  lies  in  these 
varied  and  voluminous  works  an  orderly 
and  rational  world  of  idea,  emotion,  and 
action.  Nor  will  one  have  gone  far  with- 
out discovering  that  he  is  in  a  new  world, 
and  that  the  man  who  journeys  beside 
him  is  in  some  sense  a  discoverer  and 
explorer.  Such  an  one  may  sometimes 
blaze  his  path  in  the  enthusiasm  and 
haste  of  the  search,  and  leave  for  others 
the  building  of  the  highway  which  shall 
be  easy  to  the  feet  of  the  multitude. 
Coming  to  manhood  at  a  time  when 
splendid  dreams  were  in  the  minds  of 
poets,  and  glowing  prophecies  on  their 
lips,  Browning  held  resolutely  to  the 
actual  as  he  saw  it  about  him ;  that 
noble  work  of  his  early  maturity, 
175 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

"  Paracelsus,"  marks,  with  unerring 
precision,  the  limits  of  human  achieve- 
ment. Living  on  into  a  period  in 
which  for  the  moment  the  aggressive 
energy  of  the  scientific  spirit  has  al- 
most discredited  the  authority  of  the 
imagination.  Browning  held  with  equal 
resolution  to  the  real  as  the  completion 
and  explanation  of  the  actual ;  to  the 
spiritual  as  the  key  to  the  material. 

This  repose  of  mind  in  an  age  when 
many  minds  float  with  the  shifting  tides 
of  current  opinion,  this  undisturbed  bal- 
ance maintained  between  the  two  con- 
trasted facts  of  life,  show  how  clearly 
Browning  thought  his  way  out  of  the 
confusion  of  appearances  and  illusions 
into  the  realm  of  reality,  and  how  truly 
he  is  a  master  of  life  and  its  arts.  One 
will  look  through  his  verse  in  vain  for 
any  criticism  of  the  order  of  the  universe, 
for  any  arraignment  of  the  wisdom  which 
established  the  boundaries  and  defined  the 
methods  of  human  life  ;  one  will  find  no 
lament  that  certain  ages  and  races  have 
176 


Robert  Browning 

gone,  and  their  gifts  perished  with  them, 
that  change  has  transformed  the  world, 
and  that  out  of  this  famihar  present  we 
are  swept  onward  into  the  dim  and  chill 
unknown.  Nor,  on  the  other  hand, 
does  one  discover  here  the  renunciation 
of  the  ascetic,  the  unhealthy  detachment 
from  life  of  the  fanatic,  the  repose  of  the 
mystic  from  whose  feet,  waiting  at  the 
gate  of  Paradise,  the  world  has  rolled 
away.  Browning  was  a  man  of  the 
world  in  the  noble  sense,  —  that  sense 
in  which  the  saints  of  the  future  are  to 
be  heart  and  soul  one  with  their  fellows. 
He  sees  clearly  that  this  present  is  not 
to  be  put  by  for  any  future ;  that  there 
is  no  future  save  in  this  present.  Other 
poets  have  chosen  their  paths  through 
the  vast  growths  of  life,  and,  by  virtue 
of  some  principle  of  selection  and  ex- 
clusion, made  a  way  for  themselves. 
But  Browning  surrendered  nothing  ;  he 
would  take  life  as  a  whole,  or  he  would 
reject   it.     He   refused   to  be  consoled 

by  ignoring   certain  classes  of  facts,  or 
12  177 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

to  be  satisfied  with  fragments  pieced 
together  after  some  design  of  his  own. 
He  must  have  a  vision  of  all  the  facts; 
and,  giving  each  its  weight  and  place,  he 
must  make  his  peace  with  them,  or  else 
chaos  and  death  arc  the  only  certainties. 
It  is  only  the  great  souls  that  thus  wres- 
tle the  whole  night  through,  and  will 
not  rest  until  God  has  revealed,  not  in- 
deed his  own  name,  but  the  name  by 
which  they  shall  henceforth  know  that 
he  has  spoken  to  them,  and  that  the 
universe  is  no  longer  voiceless  and  god- 
less. 

Professor  Dowden,  in  his  admirable 
contrast  of  Tennyson  and  Browning,  has 
made  it  clear  that  while  the  Laureate 
sees  life  on  the  orderly  and  institutional 
side.  Browning  sees  it  on  its  spontaneous 
and  inspirational  side.  The  one  seeks 
the  explanation  of  the  mysteries  which 
surround  him,  and  the  processes  by 
which  life  is  unfolded,  in  the  slow,  large 
movement  of  law;  the  other  goes  straight 
to  the  centre  whence  the  energy  of  life 
178 


Robert  Browning 

flows.  Society  is  much  to  Browning,  not 
because  it  teaches  great  truths,  but  be- 
cause it  reveals  the  force  and  direction  of 
individual  impulse.  Tennyson  contin- 
ually moves  away  from  the  individual 
emotion  and  experience  to  that  wider 
movement  in  which  it  shall  mix  and  lose 
itself;  the  fragment  of  a  life  gaining 
dignity  and  completeness  by  blending 
with  the  whole.  Browning,  on  the  other 
hand,  by  virtue  of  the  immense  impor- 
tance he  attaches  to  personality,  is  contin- 
ually striving  to  discover  in  the  individual 
the  potency  and  direction  of  the  general 
movement.  Every  life  is  a  revelation  to 
him ;  every  life  is  a  channel  through 
which  a  new  force  pours  into  the  world. 
Browning  always  refused  to  break  life 
up  into  fragments,  to  use  one  set  of  fac- 
ulties to  the  exclusion  of  another  set,  to 
accept  half  truths  for  the  whole  truth. 
He  discovers  truth  not  only  by  the  pro- 
cesses of  intellectual  inquiry,  but  through 
the  joy  and  pain  of  the  senses,  the  mys- 
tery of  love,  loss,  suffering,  conquest ;  by 
179 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

the  use,  in  a  word,  of  his  whole  person- 
ality. Life  and  the  universe  are  to  teach 
him,  and  he  is  in  their  presence  to  learn 
through  the  whole  range  of  his  being; 
to  be  taught  quite  as  much  unconsciously 
as  consciously ;  above  all  things,  to  grow 
into  truth.  To  reveal  truth  is,  in  his 
conception,  the  supreme  function  of  the 
visible  world,  —  a  process  as  natural  to  it 
as  the  growth  of  trees  or  the  blossoming 
of  flowers.  To  learn  is  the  normal  ac- 
tivity and  function  of  the  human  soul. 
Together,  for  ages  past,  the  universe  and 
the  spirit  of  man  have  confronted  each 
other  in  a  mighty  and  far-reaching  strug- 
gle of  the  one  to  impart  and  the  other 
to  receive ;  until,  invisibly  as  the  dew 
falls  on  the  blade  of  grass,  there  descends 
into  human  lives  truth  after  truth  accord- 
ing to  their  capacity.  Not  by  searching 
alone,  but  by  patient  waiting  as  well ; 
not  by  intellectual  processes  alone,  but 
by  obscure  processes  of  heart;  not  by 
conquest  only,  but  by  growth,  —  has  life 
cleared  itself  to  the  thought  of  men.  The 
i8o 


Robert  Browning 

germs  of  all  truth  lie  in  the  soul ;  and 
when  the  ripe  moment  comes,  the  truth 
within  answers  to  the  fact  without  as  the 
flower  responds  to  the  sun,  giving  it  form 
for  heat  and  colour  for  light.  It  follows 
from  Browning's  refusal  to  break  up  life 
into  fragments,  that  he  never  dissociates 
knowledge  and  art  from  life;  they  are 
always  one  in  his  thought  and  one  in  his 
work.  Knowledge  is  never  attainment 
or  conquest  with  him ;  it  is  always  life 
expanded  to  a  certain  limit  of  truth. 
Paracelsus  fails  because  the  volume  of  his 
life  is  not  wide  and  deep  enough  to  re- 
ceive into  itself  the  truth  to  which  he 
aspires.  Truth  does  not  exist  for  us 
until  it  is  part  of  our  life ;  until  we  have 
made  it  ours  by  absorption  and  assimila- 
tion. This  is  essentially  a  modern  idea ; 
modern  as  compared  with  the  mediaeval 
conception  of  knowledge.  For  as  Her- 
der long  ago  saw,  before  the  scientific 
movement  had  really  begun,  all  depart- 
ments of  knowledge  are  vitally  related ; 
so  far  as  they  touch  man's  life,  they  are 
i8i 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

parts  of  a  common  revelation  of  his  his- 
tory and  his  soul.  The  study  of  the 
structure  of  language  leads  to  philology ; 
and  philology  opens  the  path  into  my- 
thology ;  and  mythology  ends  in  a  science 
of  comparative  religion  and  the  deepest 
questions  of  philosophy.  Literature  is 
no  longer  an  isolated  art  through  which 
the  genius  of  a  few  select  souls  reveals 
itself;  it  is  the  deep,  often  unconscious 
overflow  and  outcry  of  life  rising  as  the 
mists  rise  out  of  the  universal  seas.  Art 
is  no  longer  an  artifice,  a  conscious  evo- 
lution of  personal  gift  and  grace ;  it  is  the 
Ideal  that  was  in  the  heart  of  a  race  find- 
ing here  and  there  a  soul  sensitive  enough 
to  feel  its  subtile  inspiration,  and  a  hand 
sure  enough  to  give  it  form.  Whoever 
studies  the  Parthenon  studies  not  only 
Athenian  genius,  but,  pre-eminently, 
Athenian  character  in  its  clearest  mani- 
festation ;  whoever  knows  English  litera- 
ture knows  the  English  race. 

This  conception  of  civilisation  and  its 
arts  as  a  growth,  as  an  indivisible  whole 
182 


Robert  Browning 

in  all  its  many-sidedness,  as  vitally  related 
to  the  soul,  as,  indeed,  the  soul  exter- 
nalised, is  the  most  fruitful  and  organic 
of  all  the  truths  which  have  come  into 
the  possession  of  the  modern  world. 

This  truth  Browning,  more  than  any 
other  poet,  has  mastered  and  applied  to 
life  and  art.  He  sees  the  entire  move- 
ment of  civilisation  as  a  continuous  and 
living  growth ;  and  from  it  as  a  rev- 
elation, from  Nature  and  from  the 
individual  soul,  his  large  and  noble  con- 
ception of  life  has  grown.  That  con- 
ception involves  a  living  relationship 
between  the  individual  and  its  entire 
environment  of  material  universe,  human 
fellowship,  and  divine  impulse.  Every- 
things  converges  upon  personality,  and 
the  key  of  the  whole  vast  movement  of 
things  is  to  be  found  in  character;  in 
character  not  as  a  set  of  habits  and 
methods,  but  as  a  final  decision,  a  per- 
manent tendency  and  direction,  a  last 
and  irrevocable  choice.  From  Brown- 
ing's standpoint  life  is  explicable  only  as 
183 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

it  is  seen  in  its  entirety,  death  being  an 
incident  in  its  dateless  being.  Full  of 
undeveloped  power,  possibility,  growth, 
men  are  to  adjust  themselves  to  the 
world  in  which  they  find  themselves  by 
a  clear,  definite  perception  of  the  highest, 
remotest  spiritual  end,  and  by  a  consist- 
ent and  resolute  use  of  all  things  to  bear 
them  forward  to  that  end.  Browning 
does  not  believe  for  an  instant  that  hu- 
man life  as  he  finds  it  about  him  is  a 
failure,  or  that  the  present  order  of 
things  is  a  virtual  confession  on  the  part 
of  Deity  that  the  human  race,  by  a 
wholly  unexpected  evolution  of  evil, 
have  compelled  a  modification  of  the 
original  order,  and  a  tacit  compromise 
with  certain  malign  powers  which,  under 
a  normal  evolution,  would  have  no  place 
here.  On  the  contrary,  he  believes  that 
the  infinite  wisdom  which  imposed  the 
conditions  upon  which  every  man  accepts 
his  life  justifies  itself  in  the  marvellous 
adaptation  of  the  material  means  to  the 
spiritual  ends ;  and  that  it  is  only  as  we 
184 


Robert  Browning 

accept  resolutely  and  fearlessly  the  order 
of  which  we  are  part  that  we  see  clearly 
the  "  far-off,  divine  event  to  which  the 
whole  creation  moves." 

To  Tennyson  the  path  of  highest  de- 
velopment is  to  be  found  in  submission 
and  obedience ;  to  Browning  the  same 
end  is  to  be  sought  by  that  sublime  en- 
thusiasm which  bears  the  soul  beyond 
the  discipline  that  is  shaping  it  to  a  unity 
and  fellowship  with  the  divine  will  which 
imposes  the  discipline.  We  are  to  suffer 
and  bear,  to  submit  and  endure,  not 
passively,  with  gentle  patience  and  trust, 
but  actively,  with  co-operative  energy  of 
will  and  joy  of  insight  into  the  far-off 
end.  Life  is  so  much  more  than  its  con- 
ditions and  accidents  that,  like  the  fruit- 
ful Nile,  it  overflows  and  fertilises  them 
all.  It  is  this  intense  vitality  which 
holds  Browning  in  such  real  and  whole- 
some relations  with  the  whole  movement 
of  Nature  and  life ;  which  makes  it 
impossible  to  discard  anything  which 
God  has  made.  If  further  proof  of  his 
i8^ 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

possession  of  genius  were  needed,  it 
would  be  furnished  by  this  supreme 
characteristic  of  his  nature ;  he  is  so  in- 
tensely alive.  Few  men  have  the 
strength  to  live  in  more  than  two  or 
three  directions.  They  are  alive  to 
philosophy  and  what  they  regard  as 
religion,  and  dead  to  science,  to  art,  to 
the  great  movements  of  human  so- 
ciety ;  or  they  are  alive  to  science,  to 
art,  and  dead  to  philosophy  and  religion. 
Genius  is  intensity  of  life,  —  an  overflow- 
ing vitality  which  floods  and  fertilises 
a  continent  or  a  hemisphere  of  being ; 
which  makes  a  nature  many-sided  and 
whole,  while  most  men  remain  partial 
and  fragmentary.  This  inexhaustible 
vitality  pours  like  a  tide  through  all 
Browning's  work  ;  so  swift  and  tumul- 
tuous is  it  that  it  sometimes  carries  all 
manner  of  debris  with  it,  and  one  must 
wait  long  for  the  settling  of  the  sediment 
and  the  clarification  of  the  stream. 

This  vitality  makes  it  impossible  for 
Browning,   great  spiritual   prophet   that 
i86 


Robert  Browning 

he  is,  to  mutilate  life  ;  to  reject  a  part  of 
it  under  a  false  conception  of  the  unity 
and  indivisibihty  of  the  whole.  No  man 
has  a  more  subtile  perception  of  the  most 
obscure  and  complex  spiritual  experiences 
than  the  author  of"  Paracelsus  "  and  the 
"  Strange  Medical  Experience  of  Kar- 
shish,  the  Arab  Physician,"  and  yet  none 
has  greater  keenness  and  joy  of  sense. 
The  world  as  it  lies  in  its  first  swift  im- 
pression on  his  soul  is  as  divine  a  world 
as  that  which  he  finds  when,  probed  to 
the  bottom,  it  discovers  a  sublime  har- 
mony and  purpose.  Chaucer  did  not 
find  skies  bluer,  flowers  more  fragrant, 
than  this  nineteenth-century  poet ;  The- 
ocritus himself,  lulled  by  the  hum  of  the 
summer  bee  and  the  fall  of  the  pine-cone, 
was  not  more  responsive  to  the  first,  im- 
mediate beauty  of  Nature  than  this 
deep  thinker  within  whose  vision  there 
also  lies  that  ethereal  and  transcendent 
beauty  which  never  deepened  the  skies  of 
Sicily  for  the  elder  singer.  Whosoever 
would  possess  his  life  wholly  must  live 
187 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

richly,  joyously,  and  victoriously  in  this 
present: 

I  find  earth  not  gray  but  rosy. 
Heaven  not  grim  but  fair  of  hue. 

Do  I  stoop  ?     I  pluck  a  posy. 

Do  I  stand  and  stare  ?     All 's  blue. 

The  young  David,  preparing  for  the 
mightiest  herculean  labours,  for  the  sub- 
limest  prophetic  visions,  mixes  his  life 
with  the  splendid  play  of  life  about  him, 
and  breeds  joy  and  buoyant  strength  in 
the  commingling : 

Oh,  our  manhood's  prime  vigour  !     No  spirit  feels 

waste. 
Not  a  muscle  is  stopped  in  its  playing  nor  sinew  un- 
braced. 
Oh,  the  wild  joys  of  living  !  the  leaping  from  rock 

up  to  rock. 
The  strong  rending  of  boughs  from  the  fir-tree,  the 

cool  silver  shock 
Of  the  plunge  in  a  pool's  living  water,  the  hunt  of 

the  bear. 
And  the  sultriness  showing  the  lion   is  couched  in 

his  lair. 
And  the  meal,  the  rich  dates  yellowed  over  with 

gold-dust  divine, 

1 88 


Robert  Browning 

And  the  locust-flesh  steeped  in  the  pitcher,  the  full 
draught  of  wine. 

And  the  sleep  in  the  dried  river  channel  where  bul- 
rushes tell 

That  the  water  was  wont  to  go  warbling  so  softly 
and  well. 

How  good  is  man's  life,  the  mere  living!  how  fit  to 
employ 

All  the  heart  and  the  soul  and  the  senses  forever  in 
joy. 

In  "  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra,"  —  that  com- 
plete and  noble  exposition  of  the  phi- 
losophy of  life  as  Browning  understands 
it, —  the  wholeness  and  the  healthfiilness 
of  a  rounded  and  full-pulsed  life  are  dis- 
tinctly and  unmistakably  affirmed : 

Yet  gifts  should  prove  their  use  : 

I  own  the  past  profuse 
Of  power  each  side,  perfection  every  turn 

Eyes,  ears  took  in  their  dole. 

Brain  treasured  up  the  whole  ; 
Should  not  the  heart  beat  once  **  How  good  to  live 

and  learn?** 

Not  once  beat  **  Praise  be  Thine ! 
I  see  the  whole  design, 
I,  who  saw  Power,  see  now  Love  perfect  too : 
189 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

Perfect  I  call  Thy  plan  : 
Thanks  that  I  was  a  man  ! 
Maker,   remake,    complete,  — I    trust    what    Thou 
Shalt  do  !  " 


Let  us  not  always  say 

**  Spite  of  this  flesh  to-day 
I  strove,  made  head,  gained  ground  upon  the  whole  !  '* 

As  the  bird  wings  and  sings. 

Let  us  cry  '*  All  good  things 
Are  ours,  nor  soul  helps  flesh  more,  now,  than  flesh 
helps  soul ! ' ' 

As  it  was  better,  youth 

Should  strive,  through  acts  uncouth. 
Toward  making,  than  repose  on  aught  found  made : 

So,  better,  age,  exempt 

From  strife,  should  know,  than  tempt 
Further.     Thou  waitedst  age  :   wait  death,  nor  be 
afraid. 

Taking   up   the   figure   of  the  potter's 
wheel,  the  poet  adds  ; 

He  fixed  thee  'mid  this  dance 

Of  plastic  circumstance. 
This  Present,  thou,  forsooth,  wouldst  fain  arrest : 

Machinery  just  meant 

To  give  thy  soul  its  bent. 
Try  thee,  and  turn  thee  forth  sufiiciently  impressed, 
190 


Robert  Browning 

What  though  the  earlier  grooves 

Which  ran  the  laughing  loves 
Around  thy  base,  no  longer  pause  and  press  ? 

What  though,  about  thy  rim. 

Skull-things  in  order  grim 
Grow  out,  in  graver  mood  obey  the  sterner  Stress  ? 

Look  thou  not  dovirn  but  up  ! 

To  uses  of  a  cup. 
The  festal  board,  lamp's  flash,  and  trumpet's  peal,  • 

The  new  wine's  foaming  flow. 

The  Master's  lips  aglow  ! 
Thou,  heaven's  consummate  cup,  what  needst  then 
with  earth's  wheel  ? 

So,  take  and  use  thy  work : 

Amend  what  flaws  may  lurk. 
What  strain  o*  the  stuff,  what  warpings  past  the  aim  I 

My  times  be  in  Thy  hand  ! 

Perfect  the  cup  as  planned  ! 
Let  age  approve  of  youth,  and  death  complete  the 
same. 

The  fullest  spiritual  development  in- 
volves this  joyous  acceptance  of  present 
methods  and  instrumentalities  of  growth 
and  action ;  to  ignore,  undervalue,  or 
corrupt  them  is  to  miss  the  very  thing 
for  which  they  were  ordained.  One 
191 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

cannot  force  the  process  of  growth  by 
endeavouring  to  escape  from  the  con- 
ditions of  this  present  Hfe  into  the 
region  of  the  unconditioned ;  neither  by 
renunciation  nor  by  searching  can  the 
laws  which  determine  the  unfolding  of 
a  soul  into  power  and  light  be  modified, 
or  their  movement  accelerated. 

On  the  other  hand,  one  must  not  for 
an  instant  rest  in  the  life  that  now  is,  nor 
in  any  of  its  joys,  its  arts,  its  achieve- 
ments ;  there  must  be  an  habitual  and 
unfailing  perception  of  the  difference 
between  the  use  and  thing  used.  He 
only  truly  lives  to  whom  the  falling 
of  the  leaf  and  the  fading  of  the  flower 
are  joyous  and  not  grievous,  because 
they  speak  of  a  larger  and  more  continu- 
ous fertility ;  to  whom  art,  when  it  has 
matched  its  divinest  vision  with  faultless 
workmanship,  is  still  only  an  unfulfilled 
prophecy  of  that  beauty  which  is  never 
wholly  present  in  any  work  of  human 
hands  and  never  wholly  absent  from 
any  noble  human  soul.  One  ceases  to 
192 


Robert  Browning 

grow  the  instant  he  takes  a  thing  for 
itself,  and  not  for  its  use,  —  the  instant 
he  detaches  it  from  the  power  which 
sustains  and  spiritualises  it.  To  rest  in 
any  joy  of  the  senses  or  any  achievement 
of  the  intellect  is  to  become  corrupt  and 
to  corrupt  the  good  gifts  of  life.  It  is 
the  acceptance  of  things  for  themselves, 
or  for  their  uses,  which  determines  char- 
acter, fixes  destiny ;  at  these  points  of 
choice  life  culminates  from  time  to  time 
in  grand  progressions  or  in  fateful  retro- 
gressions, in  illuminating  flashes  which 
make  the  horizon  shine  with  the  glory 
beyond,  or  in  awful  and  permanent 
recession  of  light,  in  awful  and  lasting 
advance  of  darkness.  These  are  the 
supreme  moments  in  which  the  soul  sees 
in  swift  glance  the  entirety  of  its  life,  and 
the  sublime  harmony  of  the  universe 
breaks  upon  it  in  ineffable  vision: 

Oh,  we  *re  sunk  enough  here,  God  knows  1 
But  not  quite  so  sunk  that  moments. 

Sure  tho'  seldom,  are  denied  us. 
When  the  spirit's  true  endowments 
«3  193 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

Stand  out  plainly  from  its  false  ones. 

And  apprise  it  if  pursuing 
Or  the  right  way  or  the  wrong  way. 

To  its  triumph  or  undoing. 

There  are  flashes  struck  from  midnights. 

There  are  fire-flames  noondays  kindle. 
Whereby  piled-up  honours  perish. 

Whereby  swollen  ambitions  dwindle; 
While  just  this  or  that  poor  impulse. 

Which  for  once  had  play  unstifled, 
Seems  the  sole  work  of  a  lifetime 

That  away  the  rest  have  trifled. 

Without  this  clear  perception  of  its 
larger  uses,  knowledge  itself  becomes  a 
snare  to  the  soul ;  it  conceals  instead  of 
revealing  the  secret  of  life.  Boundless 
aspiration  and  desire  for  nobler  life  must 
drain  the  cup  of  knowledge,  but  never 
rest  in  study  of  its  curious  tracery,  its 
rich  and  varied  design.  The  cup  once 
drained  of  the  life  that  was  in  it  must  be 
cast  aside,  as  the  eager  searcher  goes  on 
his  way  refreshed.  Browning  has  made 
this  conception  of  the  meaning  of  life 
nowhere  so  clear  as  in  that  noble  group 
of  poems  which  have  art  as  their  theme, 
194 


Robert  Browning 

Certainly  no  poet  has  ever  had  a  deeper 
thought  of  the  functions  and  limitations 
of  art ;  none  has  ever  seen  more  clearly 
the  beauty  of  the  art  which  died  with  the 
Greeks,  not  because  the  soul  parted  with 
some  endowment  when  that  wonderful 
race  perished,  but  because  life  has  ex- 
panded beyond  the  capacity  of  the  ex- 
quisite chalice  in  which  the  Greek  poured 
his  genius  as  a  gift  to  the  gods.  That  art 
attained  its  perfection  of  form,  because 
from  the  conception  of  life  which  per- 
vaded it  the  spiritual  was  resolutely  re- 
jected. The  life  that  now  is  came  to 
perfect  expression  under  the  Greek  chisel 
and  the  Greek  stylus ;  but  this  very 
perfection  was  its  limitation.  In  the  art 
which  shall  reveal  life  in  its  large  spiritual 
relations,  life  in  its  infinite  duration  and 
growth,  there  must  be  imperfection,  — 
the  imperfection,  not  of  inadequate  work- 
manship, but  of  a  thought  not  yet 
pressed  to  its  last  conclusion,  of  a  con- 
ception still  to  broaden  and  deepen. 
Antique  art  found  its  supreme  function 
>95 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

in  the  faultless  representation  of  complete 
and  finished  ideals,  — ideals  which  secured 
completion  and  definiteness  of  outline  by 
the  rejection  of  the  spiritual.  Modern  art 
will  find  its  supreme  function  in  the  noble 
expression  of  that  unsatisfied  aspiration 
of  the  soul  which  craves  and  creates 
beauty,  but  never  for  a  moment  deceives 
itself  with  the  thought  of  finality  or  per- 
fection. This  thought  of  the  office  and 
work  of  art  Browning  has  illustrated 
again  and  again  with  marvellous  beauty 
and  power.  In  "  Andrea  del  Sarto,"  the 
painter  of  the  perfect  line,  the  failure  of 
the  artist  is  evidenced  by  the  faultlessness 
of  manner  which  he  has  attained : 

Yonder  's  a  work  now,  of  that  famous  youth 
The  Urbinate  who  died  five  years  ago. 
('Tis  copied,  George  Vasari  sent  it  me.) 
Well,  I  can  fancy  how  he  did  it  all, 
Pouring  his  soul,  with  kings  and  popes  to  see. 
Reaching,  that  Heaven  might  so  replenish  him. 
Above  and  through  his  art  —  for  it  gives  way  ; 
That  arm  is  wrongly  put  —  and  there  again  — • 
A  feult  to  pardon  in  the  drawing's  lines. 
Its  body,  so  to  speak :  its  soul  is  right, 
196 


Robert  Browning 

He  means  right  —  that,  a  child  may  understand. 
Still,  what  an  arm  !  and  I  could  alter  it: 
But  all  the  play,  the  insight  and  the  stretch  — 
Out  of  me,  out  of  me  ! 

The  duke,  as  he  Hfts  the  curtain  which 
conceals  the  matchless  portrait  of  the 
"  Last  Duchess,"  whose  life-fountain  of 
joy  ceased  to  overflow  in  smiles  when  his 
command  suddenly  congealed  it,  is  an 
unerring  judge  of  the  technique  of  art, 
but  to  its  spirit  he  is  as  dead  as  the  ashes 
he  calls  his  soul.  The  real  artist  is 
never  content,  however  his  genius  dis- 
play its  splendid  strength ;  he  presses  on, 
unsatisfied,  to  that  perfect  Ideal  of  which 
all  works  of  human  hands  are  imperfect 
transcriptions.  Abt  Vogler  touches  his 
organ-keys,  and  straightway  an  invisible 
temple  springs,  arch  upon  arch,  in  the 
vision  of  his  imagination,  and  through 
it,  as  through  the  Beautiful  Gate  of  the 
older  shrine,  he  passes  into  the  presence 
of  One  who  is  the  builder  and  maker  of 
houses  not  made  with  hands.  To  reach 
that  Presence,  to  make  it  real  and  abid- 
197 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

ing  in  the  thoughts  of  men,  is  the  true 
office  and  service  of  art. 

As  Browning  interprets  art,  so  does  he 
see  Nature.  When  he  chooses  to  study 
and  describe  landscape  in  detail,  as  in 
"  The  Englishman  in  Italy,"  no  poet  has 
a  more  exact  and  faithful  touch,  a  more 
sensitive  perception  of  the  thousand 
and  one  details  which  each  contribute  a 
charm,  an  effect,  to  the  completed  pic- 
ture. No  man  understands  more  per- 
fectly that  the  mind  is  made  to  see  an 
invisible  landscape,  not  by  enumeration 
of  details,  but  by  the  few  fit  words  that 
fire  the  imagination.  But  for  the  most 
part  Browning  conceives  of  Nature  as  a 
vast  symbol  of  spiritual  force,  and  de- 
scribes it  broadly,  not  as  a  thing  apart 
from  human  life,  but  as  responsive  to 
the  soul  in  its  moments  of  exaltation. 
The  curtain  which  hangs  between  God 
and  his  creatures  is  swayed  by  many  an 
invisible  current  of  impulse  and  influence, 
—  becomes  at  times  almost  transparent 
to  an  eye  that  "hath  looked  on  man's 
198 


Robert  Browning 

mortality.**  In  those  supreme  moments 
when  hfe  touches  its  highest  altitudes,  as 
when  David  leaves  the  presence  of  Saul, 
Nature  seems  to  be  on  the  verge  of  swift 
transformation  into  some  spiritual  me- 
dium and  substance,  so  intensely  does 
the  soul  project  itself  into  all  visible 
things,  so  alive  and  responsive  are  all 
visible  things  to  the  transcendent  mood 
and  revelation  of  the  hour.  In  the  long 
range  of  life  the  material  universe  Is  seen 
to  be  plastic  and  takes  on  the  hue  and 
form  of  thought,  answering  the  soul  as 
the  body  responds  to  the  mind.  Nature 
is  vitalised  by  a  power  greater  than  itself; 
and  through  the  majesty  of  its  elemental 
forms, — its  seas  and  mountains  and  con- 
tinents, —  as  well  as  through  its  finer  and 
more  ethereal  aspects,  —  its  flowers,  its 
clouds,  its  sunrises  and  sunsets,  —  God 
presses  upon  the  spirit  of  man ;  and  in 
the  hours  when  that  spirit  aspires  high- 
est and  acts  noblest,  this  vast  appear- 
ance of  things  material  is  touched  and 
spiritualised. 

199 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

Browning's  habitual  method  of  deal- 
ing with  the  personal  soul  is  to  reveal  it 
by  some  swift  crisis,  by  some  tremen- 
dous temptation,  by  some  supreme  expe- 
rience, under  the  pressure  of  which  its 
strength  or  its  weakness,  its  nobility  or 
its  baseness,  are  brought  out  as  by  a  flash 
of  lightning.  Life  is  never  life  to  him 
except  in  those  hours  when  it  rises  to  a 
complete  outpouring  of  itself.  To  live 
is  to  experience  intensely.  No  poet  is 
so  intensely  Occidental  as  Browning  ;  so 
far  removed  from  the  Oriental  concep- 
tion of  the  world  as  an  illusion,  of  desire 
and  will  as  snares  and  evils,  of  effacement 
of  personality  as  the  chief  aim  and  end 
of  human  existence.  Browning  holds 
to  personality  so  resolutely  that  he  con- 
structs life  along  this  central  conception : 
in  his  view  the  supreme  end  of  being  is 
to  bring  out  whatever  lies  undeveloped 
within ;  to  seek  action,  to  strive  after 
love  and  opportunity,  and  find  an  un- 
speakable joy  even  in  the  anguish  which 
does  not   extinguish,   but   elevates    and 


200 


Robert  Browning 

purifies  desire.  It  was  inevitable,  there- 
fore, that  the  master-passion  of  life 
should  find  at  his  hands  noble  and  va- 
ried expression.  It  is  safe  to  say  that 
no  English  poet  has  matched  the  sover- 
eign passion  of  love  with  so  many  and 
such  wholly  adequate  forms.  Indeed, 
when  one  has  grasped  Browning's  idea 
of  love  as  the  fulfilment  of  life,  there 
are  few  other  poets  who  seem  to  have 
touched  the  theme  with  anything  ap- 
proaching mastery.  That  other  poet 
whose  star-like  soul  moves  with  his  for- 
ever in  a  common  orbit,  could  have  left 
no  more  beautiful  revelation  of  her  own 
nature  than  that  which  shines  and  glows 
in  Browning's  thought  of  love.  In 
"  Youth  and  Art,"  in  "  Colombe's  Birth- 
day," in  "The  Inn  Album,"  in  "The 
Ring  and  the  Book,"  in  those  noble 
self-confessions,  "  One  Word  More," 
and  "  By  the  Fireside,"  in  a  hundred 
other  poems,  it  is  made  clear  that  life 
touches  its  zenith  only  as  it  surrenders 
itself  to   a  passion  whose   spiritual  fer- 

201 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

vour  burns  away  all  selfishness  and 
makes  it  one  with  whatever  is  eternal 
and  divine.  He  who  fails  to  make  the 
last  venture,  to  hazard  all  for  the  pos- 
sible possession  of  heaven,  may  gain 
everything  else,  but  has  miserably  and 
finally  failed;  he  has  missed  the  one 
supreme  hour  when  life  would  have  been 
revealed  to  him.  So  profoundly  is  the 
poet  possessed  by  the  necessity  of  sur- 
rendering one's  self  to  the  highest  im- 
pulses that  occasionally,  as  in  "  The 
Statue  and  the  Bust,"  this  thought  dom- 
inates and  excludes  all  other  consider- 
ations, and  stamps  the  ungirt  loin  and 
the  unlit  lamp  as  the  supreme  and  ir- 
revocable sin  against  life. 

In  Browning's  conception  of  the  place 
of  personality  it  was  foreordained  that 
his  genius  should  be  dramatic ;  should 
deal  with  situations  and  characters,  and 
rarely  with  abstractions.  Thought,  in 
his  view,  has  not  come  to  complete  con- 
sciousness until  it  has  borne  the  fruit 
of  action.     From  "  Pauline  "  to  the  epi- 

202 


Robert  Browning 

logue  in  "  Parleyings  '*  it  is  always  a  per- 
son who  speaks,  and  rarely  the  poet ;  the 
latter  keeps  himself  out  of  sight  by  the 
instinct  which  is  a  part  of  his  gift.  The 
subtile  genius  of  a  poet  whose  mastery 
of  psychology  is  universally  recognised 
has  marvellous  power  of  penetrating  the 
secret  of  natures  widely  dissimilar,  and 
of  experiences  which  have  little  in  com- 
mon save  that  they  are  a  part  of  life. 
No  poet  has  ever  surpassed  Browning 
in  this  spiritual  clairvoyance  or  mind- 
reading,  which  has  made  it  possible  for 
him  to  give  us  the  very  spirit  of  the 
Greek  decadence  in  "  Cleon  ; "  the  sub- 
tile, confused,  but  marvellously  interest- 
ing spirit  of  the  Renaissance  in  "  The 
Bishop  Orders  his  Tomb  ; "  the  soul  of 
debased  mediaevalism  in  "  The  Soliloquy 
of  the  Spanish  Cloister  ; "  the  first  dim 
perception  of  religious  ideas  in  a  pos- 
sible primitive  man  in  "  Caliban  upon 
Setebos."  All  Browning's  poems  are 
dramatic,  and  all  his  dramas  are  dra- 
mas of  the  soul.  In  "  Paracelsus,"  in 
303 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

«  Luria,"  In  "  Sordello;'  in  «  The  Ring 
and  the  Book,"  action  is  used,  not  for 
dramatic  effect,  but  to  reveal  the  soul ; 
and  only  those  who  have  carefully 
studied  these  works  know  what  aston- 
ishing power  is  embodied  in  them, 
what  marvellous  subtilty  of  analysis, 
what  masterly  grouping  and  interplay 
of  motives,  what  overflowing  and  ap- 
parently inexhaustible  force  and  vitality 
of  mind.  In  one  of  his  luminous  gen- 
eralisations Goethe  says  that  thought 
expands,  but  weakens;  while  action  in- 
tensifies, but  narrows.  The  singular 
combination  of  great  intellectual  range 
with  passionate  intensity  of  utterance 
which  characterises  Browning  is  ex- 
plained by  the  indissoluble  union  in 
which  he  holds  thought  and  action. 
The  dramatic  monologue,  which  be- 
longs to  him  as  truly  as  the  terza  rima 
to  Dante,  or  the  nine-line  stanza  to 
Spenser,  has  this  great  advantage  over 
other  forms  of  expression,  that  it  gives 
us  with  the  truth  the  character  which 
204 


Robert  Browning 

that  truth  has  formed  ;  Instead  of  an  ab- 
straction we  have  a  piece  of  reality. 

In  his  essay  on  Shelley,  Browning 
makes  a  distinction  between ,  the  two 
great  classes  of  poets,  —  the  seers  and 
the  makers.  It  is  conceded  on  all  sides 
that  Browning  is  a  seer;  is  he  also  a 
maker  ?  The  question  involves  a  good 
deal  more  than  the  possession  of  the 
skill  of  the  craftsman  who  employs  ap- 
proved methods  and  makes  his  work 
conform  to  the  best-accepted  standards. 
Art  is  as  inexhaustible  as  Nature ;  and 
those  who  know  most  thoroughly  the 
history  of  the  development  of  literature 
will  be  slowest  to  condemn  a  form  of 
expression  which  does  not  at  a  glance 
reveal  all  its  content  of  beauty  and 
strength  to  them.  A  thinker  of  Brown- 
ing's depth  and  subtilty  will  never  attract 
those  to  whom  literature  is  a  recreation 
simply,  —  a  decorative  art  which  aims  to 
beguile  the  senses  by  purely  sensuous 
melody,  and  to  substitute  for  the  hard- 
ship of  thinking  a  pleasantly  superficial 
205. 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation  , 

comment  on  or  embellishment  of  life. 
Great  art  will  never  be  easy  of  compre- 
hension to  any  save  those  v/ho  have 
been  trained  to  the  point  of  understand- 
ing what  it  signifies,  and  whose  imagina- 
tions are  sympathetically  awakened  and 
dilated  by  it.  The  fact  that  a  writer  is 
difficult,  that  his  meaning  does  not  play 
like  a  sunbeam  on  the  surface  of  his  ex- 
pression, but  must  be  sought  in  the  very 
structure  of  his  work,  does  not  disprove 
his  possession  of  the  highest  artistic 
power.  Sophocles  is  still  the  supreme 
artist  among  all  those  who  have  im- 
pressed their  genius  upon  language ; 
but  Sophocles  never  condescends  to 
make  himself  agreeable  to  our  easy, 
careless  moods ;  he  demands  our  best 
hours  and  severest  thought.  Dante 
stands,  by  the  suffrages  of  all  civilised 
peoples,  among  the  three  or  four  fore- 
most poets  of  the  world  ;  but  the  "  Di- 
vine Comedy  "  was  never  yet  mastered 
by  the  wayfaring  man.  The  fact  that 
Browning  is  often  difficult  is  evidently 
206 


Robert  Browning 

not  conclusive  evidence  of  his  failure  as 
an  artist.  The  great  body  of  his  work 
is  perfectly  comprehensible  when  one 
approaches  it  from  the  poet's  own  point 
of  view.  It  is  then  seen  to  be,  for  the 
most  part,  marvellously  adapted  to  the 
utterance  of  his  thought,  the  masterful 
expression  of  his  purpose.  The  dra- 
matic monologue  is  not  easy  reading  at 
first ;  but  when  one  has  become  fa- 
miliar with  it,  does  any  form  of  art  seem 
so  alive  with  the  potency  of  passion,  so 
compact  and  yet  so  flexible  and  expres- 
sive ?  Does  not  "  My  Last  Duchess  '* 
tell  the  whole  story,  reveal  the  whole 
interior  tragedy,  in  a  few  swift  words, 
not  one  of  which  misses  the  exact  em- 
phasis, the  essential  and  inevitable 
weight?  It  lies  within  the  power  of 
no  secondary  artist  to  match  his  thought 
with  an  expression  that  is  instantly  and 
forever  a  part  of  that  thought,  —  not 
its  form  only,  but  its  soul,  irradiating 
and  fashioning  the  whole  by  its  own 
impulsion. 

207^ 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

In  literature  there  is  not  only  great 
variety  of  type,  but  there  is  always  the 
possibility  of  the  new  type.  The  genius 
of  each  age  creates  its  own  expression  by 
the  same  unconscious  but  irresistible  de- 
velopment which  gives  its  insight  new 
direction  or  its  constructive  tendency  a 
new  impulse.  It  is  never  a  question  of 
conformity  to  accredited  standards ;  it  is 
always  a  question  of  adequate  and  inevit- 
able expression.  The  form  which  comes 
inevitably  with  a  new  thought  of  Nature 
or  life  is  invariably  recognised  in  the  end 
as  instinct  with  the  art  spirit.  The  style 
of  "Sartor  Resartus"  is  fatal  to  every 
imitator ;  but  to  convey  the  set  of  im- 
pressions, to  place  one  at  the  point  of 
view,  which  are  the  essential  things  in 
the  book,  it  is  thoroughly  artistic.  The 
man  who  wrote  "  Sartor  Resartus  *'  and 
"  The  Diamond  Necklace  "  was  a  liter- 
ary artist  of  a  very  high  rank,  although 
he  possessed  nothing  in  common  with 
the  Benvenuto  Cellini  school  of  literary 
craftsmanship. 

20S 


Robert  Browning 

The  distinctive  quality  of  an  artist  is 
that  which  leads  him  to  use  the  one  form 
of  expression  which  gives  his  thought 
the  most  virile  and  capacious  utterance ; 
which  not  only  conveys  to  another  its 
definite  outlines,  but  those  undisclosed 
relations  which  unite  it  to  the  totality  of 
his  thinking.  Now,  at  his  best  this  is 
precisely  what  Browning  does;  he  puts 
us  in  complete  possession  of  his  concep- 
tion. He  gives  us  not  only  the  fruit  of 
a  great  passion  in  some  clear,  decisive 
action,  he  indicates  every  stage  of  the 
obscure  processes  which  lay  behind  it. 
The  soil  out  of  which  it  drew  its  sus- 
tenance, the  sky  that  bent  over  it,  the 
winds  that  touched  it  gently  or  harshly, 
shadow  of  cloud  and  flash  of  sun  upon 
it,  the  atmosphere  that  enveloped  it,  the 
movement  of  human  life  about  it,  —  all 
these  things  become  clear  to  us  as  we 
read  such  a  story  as  the  crime  of  Guido 
in  "  The  Ring  and  the  Book,"  become 
part  of  the  intricate  play,  become  part 
also  of  our  imagination,  until  at  last  the 

M  209 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

marvellous  drama  is  complete  in  a  sense 
in  which  few  works  of  art  are  complete. 
Browning's  view  of  life  and  art  and 
Nature  is  not  that  of  the  scientific  ob- 
server or  of  the  philosopher;  it  is  the 
artist's  view.  And  those  who  come 
into  sympathy  with  it  are  persuaded 
that  it  is  a  view  which  enlarges  and 
enriches  art  on  every  side,  and  that  the 
man  who  has  attained  it  is  not  only  an 
artist,  but  an  artist  in  the  truest  and 
deepest  meaning  of  a  great  but  ill-used 
word. 

Browning  not  only  sees  life  as  a  whole 
and  sees  it  in  its  large  relations  ;  he  sees 
it  always  through  the  imagination.  The 
bare,  unrelated  fact  touches  and  inspires 
him ;  he  feels  the  warm  life  in  it ;  he 
understands  it  because  there  is  some- 
thing in  himself  which  answers  to  it ;  it 
begins  to  glow  in  his  thought;  other 
facts  gather  about  it.  It  may  be  a  frag- 
ment when  it  leaves  the  poet's  hands, 
but  it  will  suggest  the  whole ;  fragment 
or  complete  and  elaborately  worked  out 

210 


Robert  Browning 

conception,  the  truth  that  lies  at  its  heart 
somehow  penetrates  us,  rouses  our  im- 
agination, possesses  us  then  and  finally, 
not  only  as  true,  but  as  beautiful  in  some 
new  and  deep  way.  "  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra  " 
will  hardly  attract  those  who  are  content 
with  the  sweet  and  obvious  common- 
places of  the  "  Psalm  of  Life  ; "  but  it  is 
one  of  the  incomparable  works  which 
slowly  distil  their  meaning  to  deepening 
thought  and  widening  experience.  Is 
there  not  in  the  sense  of  incompleteness 
which  many  of  Browning's  works  con- 
vey a  hint  of  that  larger  art  of  the  future 
whose  depth  of  beauty  shall  lie,  not  in 
faultless  outline,  but  in  inexhaustible 
suggestiveness ;  not  in  the  perfection  of 
form  which  captures  us  at  a  glance  and 
then  slowly  releases  us  as  its  charm 
becomes  familiar,  but  in  that  amphtude 
of  idea  and  of  aspiration  which  slowly 
wins  us  to  itself  by  a  power  which  pene- 
trates and  dilates  our  imagination  more 
and  more  ?  Life  is  incomplete,  —  a 
titanesque  fragment  as  Browning  sees  it ; 

211 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation " 

shall  not  art  also  share  that  incomplete- 
ness which  runs  like  a  shining  line  of 
prophecy  across  all  the  works  of  out 
hands  ?  "On  earth  the  broken  arcs  ;  in 
the  heaven  a  perfect  round." 

In  what  has  been  said  the  endeavour 
has  been  to  lay  bare  Browning's  charac- 
teristic quality  as  a  thinker  and  as  an 
artist,  to  make  clear  his  distinctive  and 
peculiar  message  and  work.  A  poet  of 
such  vigour,  of  such  intense  vitality,  will 
disclose  grave  faults.  It  is  the  work  of 
intelligent  criticism,  while  it  takes  ac- 
count of  these  things,  to  make  it  clear 
that  incompleteness  is  a  necessary  part 
of  life.  The  Angelos  are  always  some- 
what careless  of  detail ;  the  CelHnis  alone 
are  faultless.  Browning  sometimes  sees 
life  on  its  spontaneous  side  so  clearly 
that  he  fails  to  attach  due  weight  to  con- 
ventions and  institutions ;  he  has  more 
than  once  wasted  his  force  on  unim- 
portant themes ;  and  he  is  sometimes 
needlessly  and  exasperatingly  obscure. 
"  Sordello,"    for    instance,   is   distinctly 

212 


Robert  Browning 

defective  as  a  work  of  art,  because  the 
conception  was  evidently  not  mastered 
at  the  start;  and  the  undeniable  con- 
fusion and  obscurity  of  the  poem  are 
due  largely  to  this  offence  against  the 
primary  law  of  art.  The  lover  of 
Browning  will  not  shrink  from  the  ap- 
plication of  a  rigid  selective  principle  to 
a  body  of  verse  which  he  is  persuaded 
will  remain,  after  all  deductions  are  made, 
one  of  the  most  powerful,  varied,  and 
nobly  executed  contributions  to  con- 
temporary poetry,  the  splendid  utter- 
ance of  a  great  soul  who  has  searched 
knowledge,  nature,  art,  and  life,  and  with 
the  awful  vision  clear  before  him  still 
sings  with  Pippa : 

God  's  in  his  heaven. 

All 's  right  with  the  world. 


213 


Chapter  VI 

John  Keats :  Poet  and  Man 

THE  apparent  misfortune  of  early 
death  has  had  no  more  striking 
illustration  than  in  the  case  of  Keats,  to 
whom  it  meant  not  only  arrested  de- 
velopment, but  a  curiously  complete  and 
persistent  misconception  of  his  character 
and  life.  Of  no  other  English  poet  has 
the  popular  idea  been  so  wide  of  the 
mark ;  about  no  other  English  poet 
have  so  many  clouds  of  misunderstand- 
ing gathered  and  hung  to  the  lasting 
concealment  of  the  man.  Poetry  suf- 
fers chiefly  from  those  whose  idea  of  its 
nature  and  function  is  so  superficial  that 
they  set  it  at  odds  with  life,  and  turn  its 
vital,  mellow  sunshine,  the  very  joy  and 
fertility  of  Nature,  into  a  pale,  unfruitful 
moonlight.  Great  poetry  is  as  real,  as 
natural,  as  sane,  as  necessary  to  the  life 
314 


John  Keats  :  Poet  and  Man 

of  man  as  air  and  light.  Of  this  sort 
was  the  greater  part  of  the  poetry  of 
Keats ;  of  this  sort  would  it  have  be- 
come wholly  had  time  and  growth  fully 
ripened  his  gift. 

And  yet  above  all  English  poets  Keats 
has  been  the  victim  of  his  feeble  breth- 
ren, who  mitigate  their  own  sense  of 
baffled  ambition  with  the  remembrance 
of  his  woes  at  the  hands  of  the  Philis- 
tine reviewers,  and  of  those  sentimental 
hangers-on  at  the  court  of  poetry  who 
mistake  the  king's  robe  for  the  king's 
majesty,  and  whose  solemn  genuflections 
are  the  very  mockery  of  homage.  In- 
stead of  the  real  Keats,  virile,  manly, 
courageous,  well-poised,  and  full  of 
noble  ambitions,  the  world  has  fash- 
ioned for  itself  a  weakly,  sentimental, 
sensuous  maker  of  over-ripe  verse,  with- 
out large  ideas  of  his  art,  and  sensitive 
to  the  very  death  under  the  lash  of  a 
stupid  and  vulgar  criticism.  It  was  no 
small  offence  against  the  memory  of 
this    peculiarly   rich    and    sane    nature 

215 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

that  these  misconceptions  were  per- 
mitted to  become  traditions.  Although 
Lord  Houghton,  Mr.  Arnold,  Profes- 
sor Colvin,  and  other  students  and 
critics  of  Keats  have  done  much  to 
rescue  his  fame  from  the  hands  of 
those  who  have  accomplished  what 
blundering  critics  were  unable  to  effect, 
there  is  still  much  to  be  done "  before 
the  world,  which  takes  its  impressions 
rapidly  and  at  second  hand,  is  set  right 
concerning  one  of  the  most  promising 
men  of  the  age. 

Obscurity,  poverty,  and  all  manner  of 
untoward  circumstances  have  attached 
themselves  to  the  early  years  of  Keats  ; 
and  if  widely  prevailing  notions  are  to 
be  accepted,  no  poet  ever  had  so  unlucky 
a  start  in  life.  It  is  true  that  Keats 
was  born  of  obscure  parentage,  and  that 
as  a  child  he  did  not  overhear  the  talk 
of  drawing-rooms  or  play  in  the  shadow 
of  university  towns ;  but  he  must  be  a 
very  self-confident  critic  who  would  dog- 
matically pronounce  either  circumstance 
216 


John  Keats :  Poet  and  Man 

a  misfortune.  Keats  was  not  coddled 
by  fortune,  but  he  was  as  well  born  as 
Shakespeare,  and  with  much  more  ease 
of  circumstance  and  condition  than 
Burns.  The  year  of  his  birth  was  an 
auspicious  one  for  English  literature  and 
for  the  happy  development  of  his  genius  ; 
for  in  the  good  year  of  1795,  while  he 
was  opening  his  eyes  in  London,  Thomas 
Carlyle  was  cradled  in  Ecclefechan.  It 
was  the  beginning  of  a  splendid  chapter 
of  English  literary  history  ;  and  the  prel- 
ude of  the  deep,  rich  music  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  was  already  in  the  ear 
that  could  hear  it.  Ten  years  earlier 
Cowper  had  published  the  "  Task ; "  and 
a  year  later,  in  1786,  from  an  obscure 
press  at  Kilmarnock  had  come  a  slender 
volume  of  songs  full  of  the  fresh  and 
haunting  music  which  Burns  sang  to  his 
plough  on  the  uplands  of  Ayrshire.  In 
the  year  of  Keats's  birth  Wordsworth  was 
twenty-five,  and  "  The  Lyrical  Ballads  " 
were  only  three  years  distant ;  Coleridge 
was  twenty-three ;  Southey  twenty-one ; 
217 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

Landor  twenty ;  Scott  twenty-four.  A 
group  of  powerful  and  original  writers, 
who  were  to  broaden  and  deepen  the 
new  tendencies  in  English  literature,  were 
standing  on  the  threshold  of  the  new 
day  which  came  with  them.  A  group 
of  immediate  contemporaries,  hardly 
less  variously  and  richly  endowed,  were 
starting  in  the  race  with  Keats,  —  some 
to  be  his  helpers  and  friends,  others 
to  pass  him  with  scant  recognition  or  to 
"damn  him  with  faint  praise."  Byron 
was  born  seven  years  earlier  than  Keats, 
Shelley  three  years  earlier,  De  Quincey 
ten  years,  Leigh  Hunt  eleven  years. 
Another  group,  including  Tennyson, 
Browning,  Newman,  Ruskin,  and  Ar- 
nold, were  to  keep  up  the  immediate 
succession  of  men  of  genius  which  has 
been  unbroken  since  the  birth  of  Burns. 
To  have  fallen  upon  such  a  period,  when 
the  intellectual  and  spiritual  tides  were 
rising,  when  English  literature  was  recall- 
ing in  the  breadth  and  splendour  of  its 
movement  the  great  Elizabethan  age, 
218 


John  Keats:  Poet  and  Man 

was  no  small  good-fortune.  Mr.  Arnold 
has  said  that  in  the  creation  of  a  master- 
work  of  literature  two  powers  must  con- 
cur,—  "the  power  of  the  man  and  the 
power  of  the  moment."  Keats  came  at 
the  opportune  moment,  —  the  moment 
when  fresh  impulses  were  felt  by  all 
sensitive  spirits,  when  ideas  were  gaining 
the  force  and  momentum  of  great  cur- 
rents through  society. 

The  domestic  conditions  which  sur- 
rounded the  boy  Keats  did  not  foster 
and  stimulate  his  gift  of  imagination; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  they  formed  no 
great  obstacle  to  the  free  play  of  his 
nature.  If  there  was  no  direct  ministry 
of  circumstances  to  his  harmonious  de- 
velopment, there  was  no  long  and  bitter 
struggle  to  preserve  the  integrity  of  his 
genius.  His  parentage  was  humble  and 
obscure,  for  the  poet  was  born  in  a 
stable,  opposite  Finsbury  Pavement  in 
London ;  but  of  his  father  Cowden 
Clarke  reports  that  he  was  a  man  "  of 
so  remarkably  fine  a  common-sense  and 
219 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

native  respectability  that  I  perfectly  re- 
member the  warm  terms  in  which  his 
demeanour  used  to  be  canvassed  by  my 
parents  after  he  had  been  to  visit  his 
boys ; "  while  of  his  mother  it  is  said 
that  she  was  a  woman  of  sense  and  energy, 
agreeable  and  intelligent,  and  that  she 
inspired  her  children  "with  the  pro- 
foundest  affection."  Her  son  George 
describes  her  as  "  a  woman  of  uncom- 
mon talents.**  Even  the  grandparents 
are  remembered  as  persons  of  marked 
ability  and  geniality  of  temper.  The 
grandfather  was  in  independent  circum- 
stances, and  would  have  been  rich  if  he 
had  been  less  unsuspecting  and  generous; 
add  to  this  that  there  was  always  money 
enough  to  insure  comfortable  living,  — 
at  times  enough  not  only  for  independ- 
ence, but  for  generous  and  easy  habits 
of  life,  —  that  Keats  was  free  from 
serious  money  troubles  until  within  a 
few  months  of  his  death,  and  it  must  be 
conceded  that  in  many  respects  the  poet's 
youth  was  fortunate  as  compared  with 

220 


John  Keats :  Poet  and  Man 

conditions  which  often  surround  boys  of 
exceptional  nature  and  gift.  It  was  no 
doubt  distinctly  unpleasant,  when  "  En- 
dymion  "  fell  into  the  hands  of  Wilson 
and  Lockhart,  to  be  branded  as  a  cock- 
ney and  remanded  to  the  gallipots  ;  but 
there  happened  to  be  no  one  in  England 
at  that  moment,  however  fortunately 
born  and  bred,  who  had  the  inimitable 
touch,  the  rich  and  splendid  diction  of 
the  cockney  of  Finsbury  Pavement. 
Keats  had  brought  his  genius  to  its 
noble  flowering ;  and  the  fact  that  this 
supreme  crisis  was  safely  passed  is  suffi- 
cient evidence  that  if  he  missed  some 
happy  circumstances  of  prosperous  child- 
hood, he  possessed  all  the  essential 
conditions. 

The  parents  of  the  poet  had  very  hon- 
ourable ambitions  for  their  sons,  and 
sent  them  early  to  school.  When  John 
Keats  was  nine  years  old,  his  father  was 
killed  by  a  fall  from  a  horse ;  the  follow- 
ing year  the  mother  married  again.  The 
second    marriage  was    speedily  followed 

221 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

by  a  separation  ;  and  the  unhappy  wife 
betook  herself  with  her  children  to  the 
home  of  her  mother  in  Edmonton.  The 
grandmother  had  a  fortune  of  about 
seventy  thousand  dollars,  —  no  small 
sum  for  a  family  of  the  social  status  of 
the  Keatses  at  the  beginning  of  the  cen- 
tury. The  following  five  years  passed 
uneventfully  in  attendance  upon  the 
Rev.  John  Clarke's  school  at  Enfield, 
with  pleasant  holidays  at  the  grand- 
mother's comfortable  home.  The  first 
impressions  of  the  poet's  bearing  and 
character  date  from  this  period ;  and  they 
show  us  not  a  sickly,  precocious,  and  re- 
tiring youth,  but  a  boy  of  uncommon 
spirit  and  vitality,  —  passionate,  vehe- 
ment, impressionable,  and  lovable  ;  pug- 
nacious to  a  degree,  but  as  quick  to 
make  peace  as  to  open  hostilities.  He 
was  a  natural  leader  in  the  school,  and 
even  his  brothers  fell  under  his  occa- 
sional tyranny.  "  I  loved  him  from 
boyhood,"  wrote  his  brother  George, 
"even   when   he    wronged  me,  for  the 

223 


John  Keats :  Poet  and  Man 

goodness  of  his  heart  and  the  nobleness 
of  his  spirit." 

Through  this  virile  and  manly  nature, 
energetic  and  assertive  to  the  verge  of 
pugnacity,  there  ran  a  deep  vein  of  sen- 
timent; and  combined  with  this  vigor- 
ous health  of  mind  and  body,  there  was 
that  extreme  sensitiveness,  that  delicate 
poise  of  the  spirit  between  sadness  and 
joy,  which  goes  with  a  high  imaginative 
endowment.  It  is  not  difficult  to  realise 
the  character  of  the  boy,  sharing  with  his 
fellows  the  boundless  physical  delight  of 
youth,  and  yet  overclouded  at  times  with 
stirrings  of  a  genius  which  made  him  an 
alien  on  the  playground,  a  solitary  among 
the  shouting  throng.  These  overcast 
days  were  few,  however ;  for  genius,  in- 
stead of  being  the  disease  sometimes  fan- 
cied by  those  who  confuse  it  with  morbid 
self-consciousness,  is  the  very  highest 
sanity  and  health. 

As  a  schoolboy,  Keats  cared  more  for 
fighting  than  for  books ;  but  in  spite  of 
his  vehemence  and  occasional  violence, 
223 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

he  was  a  prime  favourite,  —  his  high- 
mindedness,  tenderness,  and  real  nobility 
supplementing  his  physical  leadership 
with  another  and  finer  authority.  There 
comes  a  time,  however,  in  the  life  of  a 
boy  of  such  gifts  when  the  obscure  stir- 
rings become  more  frequent  and  pro- 
found ;  the  imagination  no  longer  hints 
at  its  presence,  but  begins  to  sound  its 
mysterious  and  thrilling  note  in  the  soul. 
There  is  no  other  moment  so  wonderful 
as  this  first  hour  of  awakening,  —  this 
dawn  of  the  beauty  and  wonder  and  mys- 
tery of  the  world  on  a  nature  that  has 
been  living  only  the  glad,  unthinking 
life  of  the  senses.  It  came  to  Keats  in 
his  fifteenth  year,  —  came  with  that  sud- 
den hunger  and  thirst  for  knowledge 
which  consume  the  days  with  desire  as 
with  a  fire,  and  fill  the  young  heart  with 
passionate  longing  to  drain  the  cup  of 
experience  at  a  draught.  "In  my  mind's 
eye  I  now  see  him  at  supper,"  writes 
Cowden  Clarke,  "sitting  back  on  the 
form  from  the  table,  holding  the  foHo 
324 


John  Keats :  Poet  and  Man 

volume  of  Burnet's  *  History  of  his  Own 
Time '  between  himself  and  the  table, 
eating  his  meal  from  beyond  it."  He 
forsook  the  playground,  became  absorbed 
in  reading,  carried  off  all  the  literary 
prizes,  devoured  the  school  library, 
translated  the  entire  "jiEneid"  into  prose. 
He  took  to  mythology  as  a  bird  takes  to 
air ;  and  he  knew  Tooke's  "  Pantheon," 
Lempriere's  Dictionary,  and  kindred 
books  by  heart.  No  bee  ever  settled 
for  the  first  time  into  the  heart  of  a  flower 
with  keener  consciousness  of  touching 
the  farthest  bounds  of  delight  than  did 
this  eager-hearted  boy  surrender  himself 
to  that  ancient  world  of  beauty  which 
lives  again  wherever  a  poet  finds  it. 

In  the  midst  of  this  intense  preoccu- 
pation there  came  a  swift  and  momentous 
change  of  conditions :  the  mother  died, 
and  the  grandmother,  eager  to  make  the 
wisest  disposition  of  her  property,  placed 
her  grandchildren  under  the  custody  of 
two  guardians  to  whom  she  conveyed,  in 
trust,  the  greater  part  of  her  estate.  One 
IS  225 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

of  the  guardians,  a  London  tea  merchant, 
seems  henceforth  to  have  had  matters  in 
his  own  hands.  He  removed  Keats,  now 
fifteen  years  old,  from  school,  and  bound 
him  for  five  years  as  an  apprentice  to  a 
surgeon  of  the  neighbourhood.  From 
the  tea-selling  point  of  view  the  change 
was  no  doubt  judicious  ;  from  the  poet's 
point  of  view  it  was  hard  and  blundering. 
Keats  had  frequent  difficulties  with  the 
same  guardian ;  and  as  his  management 
of  the  poet's  property  was  neither  judi- 
cious nor  creditable,  it  is  within  bounds 
to  say  that  his  management  of  the  poet 
was  neither  intelligent  nor  generous. 

Keats's  occupations  were  interrupted  ; 
but  his  interests  were  not  changed,  nor 
was  his  progress  greatly  impeded.  Read- 
ing and  translating  went  steadily  on ; 
books  were  borrowed  and  devoured ;  and 
visits  to  the  Enfield  school  were  fre- 
quent. With  Cowden  Clarke,  the  first 
of  his  friends  of  the  mind,  Keats  became 
constantly  more  intimate.  They  were  at 
the  morning  hour,  when  the  whole  world 
226 


John  Keats :  Poet  and  Man 

turns  to  gold.  It  is  easy  to  picture 
them  in  an  arbour  in  the  school  garden, 
obhvious  of  Time  and  London,  —  those 
dragons  that  waste  the  fair  country  of 
the  Ideal,  —  reading  poetry  together. 
On  one  of  those  blissful  days  —  Time 
leaning  on  his  scythe  and  London 
grown  silent  —  Clarke  dipped  into  Spen- 
ser; and  on  the  ears  of  the  young  poet 
there  fell  for  the  first  time  the  melody 
of  that  older  poet  who  was  to  clear  his 
vision  and  make  him  conscious  of  his 
gift.  In  the  afternoon  they  read  the 
"  Epithalamium "  together,  and  in  the 
evening  Keats  carried  the  "  Faerie 
Queene "  home  with  him.  Never, 
surely,  was  friendship  happier  in  its 
ministry,  or  a  young  poet,  stranger  to 
himself,  more  fortunate  in  finding  at  the 
critical  moment  the  one  guide  in  all 
literature  to  the  secrets  and  the  riches 
of  his  art !  The  delight  of  that  day  still 
glows  after  eighty  years  of  change  and 
death, —  a  delight  deep  as  the  conscious- 
ness of  a  great  nature,  and  passionate  as 
227 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

its  hopes  and  aspirations.  Keats  had 
come  to  his  own,  and  it  was  not  the 
surgeon's  shop  ;  it  was  the  great  world 
of  the  imagination,  in  the  power  of  real- 
ising which  to  eyes  less  penetrating 
and  to  minds  less  sensitive  he  was  to 
be  without  a  master  so  far  as  time  and 
growth  were  given  him. 

The  boy  of  fifteen  fastened  upon  the 
"  Faerie  Queene  "  with  a  passionate  de- 
light ;  it  liberated  his  imagination ;  it 
spread  before  him  all  he  had  been  dimly 
groping  after ;  it  gave  his  intelligence 
suddenly  all  the  material  through  which 
beauty  expresses  and  reveals  itself.  He 
sounded  the  deep,  imaginative  reach  of 
the  poem  and  felt  its  profound  and  mys- 
tical beauty ;  but  he  saw  also  the  se- 
cret of  its  workmanship ;  he  caught  the 
splendour  that  lies  hidden  in  words. 
"  He  hoisted  himself  up,"  says  Clarke, 
"and  looked  burly  and  dominant,  as 
he  said,  *  What  an  image  that  is,  —  sea- 
shouldering  whales .' '  "  The  boy  had 
suddenly  become  a  poet ;  henceforth  all 
228 


John  Keats":  Poet  and  Man 

happenings    were   of   secondary   impor- 
tance. 

The  lines  entitled  "  In  Imitation  of 
Spenser,"  which  appeared  in  his  earliest 
published  volume  of  verse,  were  Keats's 
first  venture  into  the  field  which  the 
"  Faerie  Queene  "  opened  to  him,  and 
bear  direct  testimony  to  the  deep  im- 
pression made  upon  him  by  Spenser; 
the  influence  of  the  elder  poet  was,  how- 
ever, of  the  creative,  not  of  the  enslav- 
ing kind ;  it  was  an  influence  felt  chiefly 
in  the  liberation  of  the  young  and  un- 
tried spirit.  Thus  it  is  that  one  human 
life  ministers  to  another,  and  the  vision 
recorded  by  one  great  imagination  be- 
comes the  kindling  torch  of  another 
glow  on  the  horizon  of  Hfe.  Keats  was 
a  man  of  too  virile  and  original  genius 
to  remain  long  a  debtor  even  to  one 
of  the  masters  of  his  craft ;  a  clear  con- 
sciousness of  his  power  and  the  practice 
that  lies  between  that  consciousness  and 
the  mastery  of  his  art  were  all  that  Keats 
needed.  The  first  he  owed  to  Spenser  ; 
829 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

the  second  he  immediately  set  about  ac- 
quiring for  himself.  With  the  secrecy 
and  diffidence  of  a  youth  impelled  to 
rhyme  and  conscious  of  his  lack  of  skill, 
Keats  began  writing  sonnets  and  other 
verses,  concealing  these  first  flowers  of 
his  fancy  even  from  Cowden  Clarke, 
who  saw  them  for  the  first  time  two 
years  later.  The  bondage  of  the  ap- 
prenticeship was  slowly  wearing  to  its 
close ;  but  more  than  a  year  before  the 
expiration  of  the  term  of  five  years,  the 
articles  were  cancelled,  and  henceforth, 
as  Mr.  Lowell  has  said,  "  his  indentures 
ran  to  Apollo  instead  of  Mr.  Ham- 
mond." 

In  1 8 14,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  still 
looking  forward  to  medicine  as  a  voca- 
tion and  to  the  making  of  verse  as  an 
avocation,  Keats  entered  the  hospitals 
of  St.  Thomas's  and  Guy's  as  a  medical 
student.  Two  and  a  half  years  passed 
in  apparent  devotion  to  medical  study : 
during  the  early  months  of  this  period 
the  study  was  serious  and  real ;  during 
230 


John  Keats:  Poet  and  Man 

the  later  months  the  charm  of  poetry 
steadily  deepened.  It  became  his  real 
pursuit,  his  passion,  and  his  life  ;  but  he 
carried  on  his  professional  study  with 
sufficient  zeal  to  pass  with  credit  the 
regular  examination  as  a  licentiate  and 
to  secure  a  hospital  appointment  at 
Guy's.  To  go  further  was  to  assume 
grave  and  distasteful  responsibilities  and 
to  put  aside  visions  that  were  summon- 
ing him  with  deepening  insistence  into  a 
field  whose  freshness  and  fragrance  drew 
him  irresistibly  from  the  operating-room. 
"The  other  day,"  he  wrote  Cowden 
Clarke,  "  during  the  lecture,  there  came 
a  sunbeam  into  the  room,  and  with  it  a 
whole  troop  of  creatures  floating  in  the 
ray ;  and  I  was  off  with  them  to  Oberon 
and  fairy-land."  In  such  a  contention 
the  lecture-room  was  certain  to  lose  the 
day ;  and  yet  such  was  the  reality  and 
force  of  Keats's  mind  that  had  he  chosen 
to  follow  the  profession  of  medicine  he 
would  undoubtedly  have  followed  it 
with  high  success. 

231 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

Meantime  friendships  with  literary 
men,  or  with  men  of  literary  sympathies, 
had  been  expanding  the  life  of  the  young 
poet  and  bringing  him  into  closer  con- 
tact with  the  world.  Clarke  recalled 
long  afterward  the  fact  that  shortly  after 
the  liberation  from  prison  of  Leigh  Hunt 
in  February,  1815,  Keats  gave  him  the 
sonnet  entitled  "  Written  on  the  Day 
that  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt  left  Prison." 
This  was  the  first  decisive  evidence 
Keats  gave  of  having  committed  him- 
self to  verse  ;  and  Clarke  clearly  remem- 
bered the  conscious  look  and  obvious 
hesitation  of  the  shy  young  poet.  Not 
long  after,  and  on  a  more  memorable 
occasion,  the  two  friends  fell  upon  a 
copy  of  Chapman's  translation  of  Ho- 
mer; and  that  same  night  Keats  wrote 
the  famous  sonnet  and  struck  for  the 
first  time  that  rich  and  mellow  note, 
resonant  of  a  beauty  deeper  even  than 
its  own  magical  cadence,  heard  for  the 
first  time  in  English  poetry.  The  son- 
net has  a  largeness  of  idea,  a  breadth 
232 


John  Keats :  Poet  and  Man 

of  imagination,  an  amplitude  of  serene 
beauty,  which  make  it  the  fitting  prelude 
of  Keats's  later  work.  In  the  sestet  with 
which  it  closes  he  placed  himself  at  a 
bound  beside  the  masters  of  his  art : 

Then  felt  I  like  some  watcher  of  the  skies 
When  a  new  planet  swims  into  his  ken  ; 

Or  like  stout  Cortez  when  with  eagle  eyes 
He  stared  at  the  Pacific  —  and  all  his  men 

Look'd  at  each  other  with  a  wild  surmise  — 
Silent,  upon  a  peak  in  Darien." 

The  friendship  with  Leigh  Hunt, 
which  began  about  this  time,  brought 
Keats  in  contact  with  a  professional  man 
of  letters,  who  had  a  wide  if  somewhat 
desultory  knowledge  of  literature,  and 
who  was  a  passionate  student  and  lover 
of  earlier  English  verse,  bent  upon  re- 
storing with  his  own  hand  the  large 
movement  and  easy  naturalness  of  the 
pre-classical  period.  The  result  of  that 
endeavour  was  the  "Story  of  Rimini;" 
in  which,  with  only  partial  success,  the 
heroic  couplet  was  freed  from  the  arti- 
233 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

ficial  compression  to  which  it  had  been 
subjected  by  Dry  den  and  Pope  and  their 
followers  and  given  the  free,  full,  and 
flowing  movement  which  it  has  in  the 
verse  of  Chaucer  and  of  the  Elizabethans 
generally.  Hunt,  who  had  an  almost 
infallible  instinct  for  good  work  from 
other  hands,  and  who  seemed  to  scent 
the  rarest  fragrance  in  whatever  field  of 
poetry  he  strayed,  was  strong  in  fancy 
rather  than  in  imagination.  Not  to  his 
delicate  genius,  but  to  the  ampler  and 
profounder  spirit  of  Wordsworth  and 
Coleridge,  English  poetry  was  to  owe 
the  completion  of  the  emancipation  be- 
gun by  Cowper  and  Burns.  If  Hunt 
failed  of  the  high  task  he  had  imposed 
upon  himself,  he  was  not  lacking  in  gifts 
of  high  order  ;  and  he  had  what  is  some- 
times more  valuable  to  others  as  a  source 
of  inspiration  than  great  gifts,  the  lit- 
erary temperament ;  he  was  ardent,  sensi- 
tive, impressionable,  enthusiastic,  capable 
of  great  admirations  and  of  great  devo- 
tions. He,  too,  was  a  lover  of  Spenser ; 
234 


John  Keats :  Poet  and  Man 

and  if  he  missed  the  profounder  insight 
of  Keats,  he  brought  to  the  younger 
poet  a  quick  sympathy,  a  keen  zest  for 
the  delights  of  literature,  and  a  wide 
familiarity  with  whatever  was  most  allur- 
ing in  it.  In  many  ways  the  compan- 
ionship was  helpful  and  stimulating ;  the 
force  of  Keats's  creative  impulse  was  so 
much  more  powerful  than  that  of  Hunt, 
and  issued  from  depths  so  much  pro- 
founder,  that  he  was  in  no  danger  of  feel- 
ing the  influence  of  the  older  man  too 
deeply. 

Friendship  with  Hunt  brought  him 
into  contact  with  a  number  of  kindred 
spirits,  —  with  John  Hamilton  Rey- 
nolds, full  of  the  charm  of  dawning 
talent  and  brilliant  wit;  with  James 
Rice,  whom  Dilke  describes  as  the 
best,  and  in  his  quaint  way,  one  of  the 
wittiest  and  wisest  men  he  had  ever 
known ;  with  Shelley,  whose  name  was 
to  be  so  intimately  associated  with  his 
own  in  the  splendour  of  a  common 
promise  of  youth  and  the  sadness  of  a 
235 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

common  prematurity  of  death  ;  with  the 
painter  Haydon,  whose  vast  ambition 
was  to  be  mocked  by  the  inadequacy  of 
his  talent  to  meet  the  demand  he  im- 
posed upon  it  for  work  of  heroic  type 
and  epic  magnitude;  with  Joseph  Severn, 
a  lover  of  letters  and  art,  whose  social 
charm  Mr.  Ruskin  has  preserved  in  one 
of  his  characteristic  sentences  ;  "  lightly 
sagacious,  lovingly  humorous,  daintily 
sentimental,  he  was  in  council  with  the 
cardinals  to-day,  and  at  picnic  on  the 
Campagna  with  the  brightest  English 
belles  to-morrow,  and  caught  the  hearts 
of  all  in  the  golden  net  of  his  goodwill 
and  good  understanding,  as  if  life  were 
but  for  him  the  rippling  chant  of  his 
favourite  song, — 

*  Gente,  e  qui  1'  uccellatore.'  ** 

A  goodly  company  of  friends  surely  for 
the  young  poet ;  and  another  evidence 
that  fortune  did  not  avert  her  face  from 
the  years  of  his  self-discovery  and  self- 
culture  ! 

236 


John  Keats  :  Poet  and  Man 

In  the  congenial  companionship  of 
this  group  of  variously  gifted  men 
Keats  found  sympathy,  appreciation, 
and,  in  some  cases,  enthusiastic  en- 
couragement; and  in  March,  1817,  a 
slender  column  of  verse  came  from  the 
press  of  the  OUiers.  As  a  motto  for  his 
first  venture  the  poet  selected  the  lines 
from  Spenser : 

What  more  felicity  can  fall  to  creature 
Than  to  enjoy  delight  with  liberty? 

Over  the  gateway  of  his  career  Keats 
thus  acknowledged  his  indebtedness  to 
the  past,  and  disclosed  the  prime  qual- 
ities of  his  own  contribution  to  English 
poetry.  Continuing  the  tradition  of 
Spenser,  not  as  an  imitation,  but  as  an 
inspiration,  he  was  to  illustrate  the  lib- 
erty of  a  new  force  in  poetry  and  the 
delight  which  lies  on  the  world  like  the 
bloom  and  fragrance  of  the  early  sum- 
mer. In  the  volume  of  18 17  there  is 
much  that  is  crude,  immature,  and  of 
unequal  workmanship;  there  is  much 
237 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

also  that  betrays  both  the  vision  and 
the  faculty  of  a  great  poet :  such  work 
as  the  sonnet  on  Chapman's  Homer  and 
the  lines  entitled  "  Sleep  and  Poetry  '* 
convey  unmistakable  intimation  of  the 
presence  of  a  great  gift.  The  book 
was  necessarily  a  kind  of  prelude  to 
the  poet's  real  work ;  he  was  feeling 
for  the  keys  of  his  instrument,  learning 
its  resources,  mastering  its  combinations. 
The  magical  touch  is  not  present  save 
here  and  there  in  detached  lines ;  there  is 
little  of  that  quiet,  easy,  assured  putting 
forth  of  strength  which  later  was  to  fur- 
nish the  last  evidence  of  the  poet's  great- 
ness. He  had  felicity  of  phrase,  but  he 
lacked  that  finality  of  beauty  which  marks 
a  great  style;  he  had  glimpses  of  the 
world  he  was  to  explore  with  so  keen  a 
poetic  intelligence,  but  he  lacked  that 
full  and  ordered  knowledge  which  was 
to  make  him  one  of  the  masters  of  the 
things  of  the  imagination.  The  volume 
had  the  qualities  of  such  a  mind  as  his ; 
profusion  of  idea  and  imagery,  depth  and 
238 


John  Keats  :   Poet  and  Man 

freshness  of  feeling,  rare  good  fortune 
in  words  and  phrase,  the  exuberance, 
the  zest,  the  infinite  delight  of  a  poetic 
mind  coming  to  a  consciousness  of  its 
power  and  spreading  wing  for  the  first 
flight.  It  had  also  the  defects  of  such 
a  mind  at  such  a  stage,  —  lack  of  critical 
power,  of  balance  between  thought  and 
feeling,  of  restraint  and  proportion. 

When  the  slender  book  appeared, 
Haydon,  who  always  borrowed  the  thun- 
der of  Jove  under  the  mistaken  impres- 
sion that  the  lightning  went  with  it, 
wrote  to  Keats :  "  I  have  read  your 
*  Sleep  and  Poetry  ; '  it  is  a  flash  of  light- 
ning that  will  rouse  men  from  their  oc- 
cupations, and  keep  them  trembling  for 
the  crash  of  thunder  that  will  follow." 
Whoever  read  that  beautiful  confession 
of  a  poet's  faith  must  have  recognised 
the  birth  of  another  child  of  the  Muses  ; 
but  unluckily  few  took  time  to  read  it. 
There  were  other  voices  in  the  air,  — 
voices  of  great  volume  and  of  penetrating 
musical  quality ;  and  the  fresh  note  of 
239 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

this  new  voice  was  heard  by  few.  Byron, 
Scott,  and  the  facile  Moore  were  a  trio 
such  as  have  rarely  sought  and  won 
popularity  at  the  same  moment.  Keats 
had  to  wait,  and  it  was  probably  a  piece 
of  good  fortune  that  fame  remained  at  a 
distance  with  that  mask  of  indifference 
which  she  so  constantly  wears  for  those 
whom  she  means  later  to  crown.  There 
were  a  few  commendatory  notices ;  there 
was  a  small  sale ;  and  there,  for  the 
moment,  the  matter  ended. 

Shortly  after  the  publication,  which 
disappointed  his  friends  apparently  more 
than  himself,  Keats  left  London  and 
went  to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  where  surely, 
if  anywhere  in  England,  a  bruised  spirit 
may  find  that  consolation  of  beauty 
which  is  one  of  the  most  penetrating 
ministries  of  the  divine  completeness  to 
our  mortal  incompleteness.  From  this 
visit  dates  the  beginning  of  that  corre- 
spondence with  his  family  and  friends  in 
which  we  possess  a  kind  of  autobiography 
as  well  as  a  delightful  addition  to  Eng- 
240 


John  Keats  :  Poet  and  Man 

lish  letters.  It  was  in  the  early  spring ; 
"  as  for  primroses,  the  Island  ought  to 
be  called  Primrose  Island,  —  that  is,  if 
the  nation  of  Cowslips  agree  thereto,  of 
which  there  are  divers  clans  just  begin- 
ning to  lift  up  their  heads."  The  pain 
and  stress  of  expression  —  that  deep 
necessity  of  artistic  minds  —  was  upon 
him :  "  I  find  I  cannot  exist  without 
Poetry,  —  without  eternal  Poetry  ;  half 
the  day  will  not  do ;  the  whole  of  it.  I 
began  with  a  litde,  but  habit  has  made 
me  a  Leviathan.  I  had  become  all  in  a 
tremble  from  not  having  written  anything 
of  late, — the  sonnet  over-leaf  did  me 
good.  I  slept  the  better  last  night  for 
it ;  this  morning,  however,  I  am  nearly  as 
bad  again.  Just  now  I  opened  Spenser, 
and  the  first  lines  I  saw  were  these  : 

*  The  noble  heart  that  harbours  virtuous  thought. 
And  is  with  child  of  glorious  great  intent. 
Can  never  rest  until  it  forth  have  brought 
Th'  eternal  brood  of  glory  excellent.'  " 

He  was  reading  and  writing  eight  hours 
a  day,  feeling  in  some  way  a  fellowship 

l6  241 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

with  Shakespeare  which  seemed  to  carry 
with  it  the  recognition  and  approval  of 
the  master  of  English  song,  and  brood- 
ing over  the  loveliness  of  Nature,  which 
enfolded  him  with  the  joy  and  exhaust- 
lessness  of  eternal  poetry.  There  were 
days  of  restlessness  and  irritation  which 
foreshadowed  the  physical  weakness 
which  was  soon  to  assert  itself  and,  in  a 
measure,  defeat  the  promise  of  the  glow- 
ing spirit.  But  these  clouds  were  mo- 
mentary ;  there  were  raptures  such  as 
only  the  young  imagination  knows. 
Writing  to  Miss  Reynolds,  he  says : 
"  Believe  me,  my  dear  Jane,  it  is  a  great 
happiness  to  see  that  you  are  in  this 
finest  part  of  the  year  winning  a  little 
enjoyment  from  the  hard  world.  In 
truth,  the  great  Elements  we  know  of 
are  no  mean  comforters :  the  open  sky 
sits  upon  our  senses  like  a  sapphire 
crown ;  the  Air  is  our  robe  of  state ;  the 
Earth  is  our  throne ;  and  the  Sea  a 
mighty  minstrel  playing  before  it,  able, 
like  David's  harp,  to  make  such  a  one 
242 


John  Keats :  Poet  and  Man 

as  you  forget  almost  the  tempest  cares 
of  life." 

These  words  are  significant  of  the 
education  which  Keats  was  giving  him- 
self,—  the  education  which  lies  behind 
every  great  career,  through  which  the  lib- 
eration of  every  original  mind  is  accom- 
plished. It  was  no  shallow  inspiration 
which  burned  like  fire  in  the  soul  of  the 
poet;  it  was  no  obvious  and  superficial 
beauty  which  mirrored  itself  in  his  soul, 
and  which  he  was  to  give  back  line  for 
line.  His  springs  were  in  the  secret 
places,  fed  by  the  spirit  of  God  and  dis- 
covered by  those  alone  who  hold  the 
divining-rod  of  genius.  With  Keats,  as 
with  all  the  masters  of  the  arts,  there 
was  no  separation  of  life  and  art ;  they 
were  one  in  that  fundamental  unity 
which  men  never  break  save  at  the  loss 
of  what  is  deepest  in  thought  and  truest 
in  art,  —  that  sublime  marriage  of  which 
all  the  great  works  of  art  are  the  off- 
spring. "  I  feel  more  and  more  every 
day,"  he  wrote,  "as  my  imagination 
243 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

strengthens,  that  I  do  not  live  in  this 
world  alone,  but  in  a  thousand  worlds. 
No  sooner  am  I  alone  than  shapes  of 
epic  greatness  are  stationed  round  me, 
and  serve  my  spirit  the  office  which  is 
equivalent  to  a  king's  bodyguard,  — 
then  '  Tragedy  with  sceptred  pall  comes 
sweeping  by.'  '* 

Keats  was  now  at  work  on  the  story 
of "  Endymion,"  moving  from  place  to 
place  in  search  of  the  most  favourable 
conditions.  A  delightful  episode  in  this 
wandering  life  was  a  visit  of  six  weeks  at 
Oxford,  the  mornings  devoted  to  work 
on  the  poem  and  the  afternoons  to  walk- 
ing or  rowing.  The  charm  of  the  city 
was  on  him,  as  it  has  been  on  so  many 
men  of  imagination ;  and  Bailey,  who 
was  his  companion,  records  the  wonder- 
ful sweetness  and  charm  of  the  poet  dur- 
ing these  days  in  the  ripe  old  gardens  or 
upon  the  slow-moving  Isis.  The  months 
that  followed  were  shadowed  by  anxiety. 
His  brother  Tom  was  ill,  and  his  brother 
George  was  preparing  to  emigrate  to  this 
244 


John  Keats :  Poet  and  Mart 

country;  but  Keats  kept  steadily  at  work, 
and  "Endymion"  was  published  in  the 
spring  of  1818.  The  quality  and  place 
of  the  poem  in  the  development  of  his 
mind  and  art  were  perfectly  understood 
by  the  poet.  He  had  very  moderate 
expectations  of  its  success,  and  he  saw 
much  more  clearly  than  his  critics  its  de- 
fect and  immaturity ;  he  saw  also  its 
sincerity  and  value  as  the  fruit  of  a  rip- 
ening art.  His  perception  of  its  defects 
and  his  recognition  of  its  freshness  and 
deep  poetic  impulse  were  both  correct; 
for  no  poet  ever  understood  himself  more 
thoroughly.  With  manly  integrity  and 
simplicity  he  put  into  the  preface  to  the 
poem  a  clear  expression  of  his  feeling 
toward  his  work  :  "  Knowing  within  my- 
self the  manner  in  which  this  Poem  has 
been  produced,"  he  wrote,  "it  is  not 
without  a  feeling  of  regret  that  I  make  it 
public.  What  manner  I  mean  will  be 
quite  clear  to  the  reader,  who  must  soon 
perceive  great  inexperience,  immaturity, 
and  every  error  denoting  a  feverish  at- 
245 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

tempt,  rather  than  a  deed  accomplished. 
.  .  .  The  imagination  of  a  boy  is  healthy 
and  the  mature  imagination  of  a  man  is 
healthy ;  but  there  is  a  space  of  life  be- 
tween in  which  the  soul  is  in  a  ferment, 
the  character  undecided,  the  way  of  life 
uncertain,  the  ambition  thick-sighted." 
It  was  this  "  space  of  life  between  "  which 
produced  "  Endymion." 

The  story  was  one  of  the  most  familiar 
in  that  mythology  concerning  which,  in 
the  same  preface,  he  expressed  the  hope 
that  he  had  not  touched  it  in  too  late 
a  day  and  dulled  its  brightness.  The 
motive  of  the  tale,  with  its  blending  of 
youth,  love,  and  immortality,  had  ap- 
pealed to  Theocritus  and  Ovid,  to  Lyly, 
to  Michael  Drayton,  to  Fletcher,  and  to 
many  other  poets.  Its  suggestiveness  and 
its  illusiveness  gave  it  a  peculiar  charm 
for  Keats,  and  at  the  same  time  made  it 
a  peculiarly  dangerous  theme.  That  he 
failed  to  assimilate  completely  the  incon- 
gruous elements  in  his  hands  is  evident; 
his  work  lives  not  by  reason  of  its  perfect 
246 


John  Keats  :  Poet  and  Man 

structure,  but  by  reason  of  its  overflowing 
beauty  of  poetic  thought  and  diction. 
Two  years  later  it  is  possible  that  he 
might  have  touched  it  with  the  mastered 
strength  which  stamps  the  fragment  of 
"  Hyperion."  Or  it  may  be  that  the 
beautiful  fancy,  so  alluring  and  so  prone 
to  melt  into  cloud-mist  if  you  look  at  it 
steadily,  belongs  rather  to  the  ferment 
and  freshness  of  youth  than  to  the  defi- 
niteness  and  ordered  strength  of  matur- 
ity. "  Endymion  "  discloses  to  the  reader 
of  to-day  the  strength  and  the  weakness 
which  Keats  saw  in  it  before  the  garish 
light  of  criticism  fell  upon  it.  It  has  the 
freshness  of  feeling  and  perception,  the 
glow  of  imagination,  the  profusion  and 
riot  of  imagery,  the  occasional  over- 
ripeness,  the  occasional  perfection  of 
expression,  the  lack  of  sustained  and 
cumulative  power,  which  one  would  ex- 
pect from  so  immature  a  mind :  as  a 
finished  product  it  has  very  great  blem- 
ishes ;  as  the  work  of  a  young  poet  it 
overflows  with  promise.  One  wonders 
247 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

not  so  much  at  the  brutaHty  of  the  critics 
as  at  their  stupidity. 

Concerning  the  treatment  of  this  Greek 
myth,  as  concerning  his  treatment  of 
Greek  themes  in  general,  it  may  be  said 
that  while  Keats  had  the  temperament 
of  the  Greek  in  his  delight  in  beauty 
and  his  repose  in  it,  his  manner  was 
pre-eminently  romantic.  He  is  as  far 
removed  as  possible  from  the  classical 
emphasis  on  form  and  idea ;  the  "  Eve 
of  Saint  Agnes  "  may  well  serve  as  the 
very  highest  type  of  the  romantic  manner. 
Its  splendid  colouring,  its  richness  of  tex- 
ture, its  warmth  and  fragrance,  mark  the 
antipodes  of  the  classical  manner.  "  En- 
dymion  "  especially  discovers  the  widest 
divergence  from  Greek  models.  Its  pro- 
fusion of  imagery,  its  mingling  of  often 
inharmonious  elements,  and  its  vagueness 
are  the  faults  of  excessive  romanticism. 

After  the  publication  of  "  Endymion  " 
Keats  set  off  on  the  interesting  but  un- 
fortunate northern  tour.  The  scenery 
and  associations  of  Scotland  stirred  his 
248 


John  Keats  :   Poet  and  Man 

imagination  to  its  depths  ;  but  the  ex- 
posure of  the  journey  told  heavily  on  a 
frame  unequal  to  such  demands.  From 
Windermere  to  Ayr,  and  from  the  High- 
lands to  the  Hebrides,  through  scenes 
touched  with  whatever  is  great  in  Eng- 
lish literature  and  Scotch  minstrelsy,  and 
with  whatever  is  pathetic  and  venerable 
in  the  history  of  both  countries,  the 
ardent  young  traveller  made  his  way, 
eager,  enthusiastic,  often  in  a  tempest  of 
emotion,  —  the  mountains  for  the  first 
time  crowding  about  him,  and  Gary's 
translation  of  Dante  in  his  knapsack. 
But  in  the  midst  of  this  great  experience, 
the  first  distinct  symptoms  of  pulmonary 
disease  showed  themselves ;  and  from 
this  time,  with  occasional  pauses,  the 
poet's  health  steadily  failed. 

The  welcome  that  awaited  him  in 
London  was  of  the  most  ungracious 
sort.  The  fourth  article  in  the  series  on 
the  "  Cockney  School  of  Poetry "  ap- 
peared in  the  August  issue  of  "  Black- 
wood's Magazine  ; "  and  the  criticism  in 
249 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

the  "Quarterly  Review"  saw  the  light 
in  September.  Too  much  importance 
has  been  attached  to  these  reviews,  which 
are  likely  to  be  remembered  hereafter 
simply  as  prime  illustrations  of  the  falli- 
bility of  criticism.  The  reviewers  did 
not  kill  Keats ;  and  the  tradition  that 
fastened  this  crime  upon  them  has  done 
them  honour  overmuch,  while  it  has  done 
dishonour  to  the  poet.  The  sin  of  the  re- 
viewers was  not  murder,  but  brutality, 
vulgarity,  and  incredible  stupidity.  That 
the  reviews  were  unfavourable  and  even 
severe  was  a  small  matter ;  the  meanness 
of  the  onslaught  lay  in  their  indifference 
to  the  decencies  of  life,  their  unpardon- 
able allusions  to  personal  history,  their 
coarse  contemptuousness. 

It  was  inevitable  that  a  man  so  sensi- 
tive and  just  as  Keats  should  feel  keenly 
the  coarseness  and  meanness  of  the  attack 
on  his  work,  but  he  did  not  bend  under 
it.  That  it  touched  him  sharply  is  true ; 
that  it  touched  him  fatally  is  false.  His 
was  too  sound  a  nature,  too  great  a  mind, 
250 


John  Keats :  Poet  and  Man 

to  feel  more  than  the  momentary  pang 
of  misunderstanding  and  misrepresenta- 
tion. His  real  interest  was  in  his  art, 
not  in  the  recognition  of  his  art ;  and  he 
saw  far  more  clearly  than  his  critics  the 
defects  and  the  strength  of  his  first  long 
poem.  His  friends  were  in  a  ferment  of 
indignation ;  Keats  was  calm  and  cheerful. 
The  passing  depression  which  prompted 
him  to  declare  that  he  would  write  no 
more  poetry  speedily  gave  place  to  a 
clearer  insight  into  his  own  nature. 

"  I  cannot  but  feel  indebted,"  he  wrote,  "  to 
those  gentlemen  who  have  taken  my  part.  As 
for  the  rest,  I  begin  to  get  a  little  acquainted 
with  my  own  strength  and  weakness.  Praise 
or  blame  has  but  a  momentary  effect  on  the 
man  whose  love  of  beauty  in  the  abstract 
makes  him  a  severe  critic  of  his  own  work. 
My  own  domestic  criticism  has  given  me  pain 
without  comparison  beyond  what  *■  Blackwood ' 
or  the  '  Quarterly  '  could  possibly  inflict ;  and 
also  when  I  feel  I  am  right,  no  external  praise 
can  give  me  such  a  glow  as  my  own  solitary 
reperception  and  ratification  of  what  is  fine. 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

J.  S.  is  perfectly  right  in  regard  to  the  slip- 
shod *  Endymion.'  That  it  is  so  is  no  fault 
of  mine.  No!  though  it  may  sound  a  little 
paradoxical.  It  is  as  good  as  I  had  power  to 
make  it  —  by  myself.  Had  I  been  nervous 
about  its  being  a  perfect  piece,  and  with  that 
view  asked  advice,  and  trembled  over  every 
page,  it  would  not  have  been  written;  for  it  is 
not  in  my  nature  to  fumble,  —  I  will  write 
independently.  I  have  written  independently, 
without  judgment.  I  may  write  independently, 
and  with  judgment,  hereafter.  The  Genius 
of  Poetry  must  work  out  its  own  salvation  in 
a  man.  It  cannot  be  matured  by  law  and 
precept,  but  by  sensation  and  watchfulness  in 
itself.  That  which  is  creative  must  create  it- 
self. In  '  Endymion '  I  leaped  headlong  into 
the  sea,  and  thereby  have  become  better  ac- 
quainted with  the  soundings,  the  quicksands, 
and  the  rocks,  than  if  I  had  stayed  upon  the 
shore  and  piped  a  silly  pipe,  and  took  tea  and 
comfortable  advice.  I  was  never  afraid  of 
failure ;  for  I  would  sooner  fail  than  not  be 
among  the  greatest." 

These  are  strong,  clear-sighted  words  ; 
they    have   robust   sense,    courage,  and 
252 


John  Keats :  Poet  and  Man 

virility  in  them  ;  they  were  never  written 
by  a  victim  of  stupid  criticism  or  by  a 
sentimental  weakling.  They  show  Keats 
not  only  resolutely  holding  to  his  ideals, 
but  still  possessed  of  that  dauntless  pluck 
which  earlier  ran  to  an  excess  of  pugna- 
city on  the  playground.  The  reception 
of  "  Endymion  "  would  not  have  justi- 
fied so  full  a  discussion  at  this  late  day 
had  it  not  been  for  the  popular  tradition 
which  transformed  a  clumsy  blow  with  a 
bludgeon  into  the  death-thrust  of  a  sti- 
letto. It  was,  as  Keats  said  in  a  letter  to 
his  brother  George, "  a  mere  matter  of  the 
moment."  And  in  the  calm  assurance 
of  his  great  gifts  he  added,  "  I  think  I 
shall  be  among  the  English  Poets  after 
my  death." 

And  now  the  story  of  the  poet's  life 
hurries  on  to  its  pathetic  close.  His 
brother  Tom  died,  and  Keats  went  to 
live  with  his  friend  Charles  Brown.  He 
was  writing  "  Hyperion "  and  coming 
under  the  spell  of  Miss  Fanny  Brawne, 
—■a  spell  which,  in  the  delicate  condi- 
253 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

tion  of  his  health  and  the  ferment  of  his 
soul,  was  to  work  him  harm.  It  was  a 
hard  passage  in  a  life  over  which  the 
clouds  were  fast  gathering.  Tom  Keats 
dead,  George  gone  to  America,  his  work 
spurned,  his  personal  history  satirised, 
his  health  swiftly  breaking,  Keats  was  ill 
fitted  to  resist  or  master  the  passion 
which  seized  him.  The  winter  was  full 
of  intense  emotion,  of  alternate  depres- 
sion and  exaltation ;  and  yet  in  this 
whirl  of  emotion  the  genius  of  Keats 
burned  with  a  pure  and  splendid  flame, 
—  for  this  was  the  winter  of  "  Hyperion," 
"The  Eve  of  Saint  Agnes,"  the  "  Ode 
on  a  Grecian  Urn,"  the  "  Ode  to  Psyche," 
the  "  Ode  to  a  Nightingale."  During 
the  succeeding  summer  "  Lamia  "  was 
written  in  rhyming  heroics.  At  Win- 
chester, with  its  claustral  calm  and  its 
venerable  ripeness  and  beauty,  the  late 
summer  and  early  autumn  passed. 
"  Otho  "  was  finished,  and  the  fragment 
of  "  Saint  Stephen  "  begun,  neither  with 
any  degree  of  success.  These  were  the 
254 


John  Keats :  Poet  and  Man 

last  working-days,  and  the  last  fruit  of 
them  was  the  noble  ode  "  To  Autumn/* 
These  brief  months  had  brought  out, 
not  the  full  measure,  but  the  ripe  power 
of  Keats's  genius.  The  apprenticeship 
was  ended ;  the  artist  had  come  to  full 
stature.  Not  since  Spenser  had  there 
been  a  purer  gift  of  poetry  among  Eng- 
lish-speaking peoples ;  not  since  Milton  a 
line  of  nobler  balance  of  sound,  thought, 
and  cadence.  There  is  no  magic  of  col- 
our in  written  speech  that  is  not  mixed 
in  the  diction  of  "  The  Eve  of  Saint 
Agnes,"  —  a  vision  of  beauty,  deep,  rich, 
and  glowing  as  one  of  those  dyed  win- 
dows in  which  the  heart  of  the  Middle 
Ages  still  burns.  While  of  the  odes,  so 
perfect  in  form,  so  ripe  with  thought, 
so  informed  and  irradiated  by  the  vision 
and  the  insight  of  the  imagination,  what 
remains  to  be  said  save  that  they  furnish 
us  with  the  tests  and  standards  of  poetry 
itself?  They  mark  the  complete  iden- 
tification of  thought  with  form,  of  vision 
with  faculty,  of  life  with  art. 
255 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

But  this  noble  power,  that  seemed  in 
all  those  months  to  create  with  a  divine 
ease  out  of  a  divine  fulness,  was  the  final 
energy  of  an  expiring  life.  Keats  re- 
turned to  London  in  October,  1819. 
On  the  advice  of  Brown  he  tried  his 
hand  at  a  satiric  piece  with  a  fairy  back- 
ground ;  but  he  failed  where  Leigh  Hunt 
might  have  succeeded.  The  "  Cap  and 
Bells"  is  not  without  happy  phrases, 
nor  is  it  lacking  in  music,  but  Keats's 
heart  was  not  in  it,  and  where  his  heart 
was  not,  neither  was  his  genius.  Mean- 
while the  consciousness  of  ebbing 
strength,  the  bitterness  of  great  achieve- 
ments never  to  be  made,  of  a  consuming 
passion  never  to  be  satisfied,  preyed  on 
him  like  a  vulture.  The  strain  of 
genius  is  a  very  real  thing,  —  the  strain 
of  an  imagination  easily  exalted  and 
stimulated,  of  emotions  swiftly  fired  and 
of  devouring  intensity,  of  a  temperament 
sensitive  to  every  wind  and  shadow. 
This  strain  Keats  felt  in  all  its  intensity. 
There  were  the  usual  pauses  which  mark 
256 


John  Keats  :  Poet  and  Man 

the  course  of  pulmonary  disease;  but 
there  was  no  hope  from  the  beginning. 
In  July  the  third  and  last  volume  of 
poems  came  from  the  press,  containing 
the  work  of  Keats's  best  period,  which 
extended  from  the  early  spring  of  1818 
to  the  late  autumn  of  18 19.  Poetry  of 
so  unmistakable  a  quality  could  not  and 
did  not  fail  of  recognition.  Nothing 
approaching  popularity  came  to  the 
poet;  but  discerning  people  responded 
generously  to  this  new  appeal  for  recog- 
nition; there  was  a  kindly  notice  in  the 
"  Edinburgh  Review  ; "  and  there  was  a 
respectable  sale  of  the  book. 

Keats  meanwhile  was  going  through 
the  supreme  crisis ;  and  no  one  can  read 
the  passionate  outcries  which  his  letters 
to  Fanny  Brawne  became  in  those  days 
without  passing  by  with  uncovered  head. 
There  are  confidences  too  sacred  even 
for  the  glance  of  friendship,  and  there 
are  struggles  too  bitter  to  preserve  in 
any  permanent  record.  It  was  inevita- 
ble that  this  strong  nature,  holding  fame 
17  257 


Essays  In  Literary  Interpretation 

and  love  within  reach,  should  rebel 
against  the  last  terrible  decree  of  renun- 
ciation ;  it  was  also  inevitable  that  this 
strong  nature  should  reconcile  itself  to 
life  and  die  with  the  courage  of  a  great 
human  soul.  In  September  Keats  left 
London  for  Italy.  On  shipboard  his 
genius  blazed  up  once  more  from  the 
ashes  that  were  fast  covering  it ;  and  on 
a  blank  leaf  of  a  copy  of  Shakespeare 
he  wrote  the  beautiful  sonnet  beginning, 
**  Bright  Star,  would  I  were  steadfast  as 
thou  art ! "  and  containing  the  noble 
figure  of 

The  moving  waters  at  their  priest-like  task 
Of  cold  ablution  round  earth's  human  shores. 

In  Rome  he  was  cheerful  and  serene. 
There  were  short  walks  ;  there  was  even 
a  plan  for  a  poem  in  Sabina.  But  the 
end  was  close  at  hand.  There  was  a 
sudden  relapse  and  then  a  partial  rally, 
but  no  more  hope.  Keats  was  longing 
for  the  great  peace,  and  sustaining  him- 
self by  listening  to  the  prose  of  Jeremy 
258 


John  Keats :   Poet  and  Man 

Taylor  and  to  the  sonatas  of  Haydn. 
On  the  23d  of  February,  1821,  he  called 
Severn  to  lift  him  up  :  "I  am  dying ;  I 
shall  die  easy.  Don't  be  frightened  ;  be 
firm,  and  thank  God  it  has  come." 
Three  days  after,  he  was  buried  in  the 
quiet  cemetery  where  Severn  himself 
sixty  years  later  was  to  lie  beside  him, 
and  where  Shelley  also  sleeps  under  the 
soft  Italian  sky,  —  so  near  the  ancient 
tumult  of  Rome,  and  yet  wrapped  about 
by  the  eternal  silence. 

He  dwelt  with  the  bright  gods  of  elder  time. 
On  earth  and  in  their  cloudy  haunts  above. 
He  loved  them  ;   and,  in  recompense  sublime, 
The  gods,  alas !  gave  him  their  fatal  love. 

The  story  of  Keats's  life  is  also  the 
story  of  his  genius  and  his  art,  for  no 
English  poet  has  more  entirely  illus- 
trated the  truth  of  Goethe's  declaration 
that  "  everything  that  man  undertakes  to 
produce,  whether  by  action,  word,  or  in 
whatsoever  manner,  ought  to  spring  from 
the  union  of  all  his  faculties."  Keats's 
259 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

verse  has  this  wholeness,  this  inevita- 
bleness ;  it  is  no  play  of  fancy,  no  clev- 
erness of  mind,  no  skill  of  hand,  no 
dexterity  of  culture ;  it  is  the  expres- 
sion of  the  man  in  his  contact  with 
nature  and  life.  Its  very  immaturity 
is  the  evidence  of  its  reality ;  it  betrays 
no  early  precocity  of  technical  cunning, 
but  the  tumultuous  strength  of  a  poetic 
nature  coming  to  a  knowledge  of  itself. 
The  great  style  was  to  come,  as  the 
great  style  always  comes,  from  the  full 
and  harmonious  expression  of  a  powerful 
and  capacious  personality.  Keats  was 
not  to  be  a  maker  of  a  verse  only,  but 
a  revealer  of  the  thought  that  is  every- 
where one  with  beauty  ;  and  that  thought 
was  to  show  itself  to  him  only  with  the 
ripening  of  his  nature  under  the  touch 
of  life.  What  he  did,  therefore,  pure 
and  perfect  as  its  quality  is,  was  the 
promise  rather  than  the  performance 
of  his  genius.  "  If  I  should  die,"  he 
wrote  on  one  of  the  last  days,  "  I  have 
left  no  immortal  work  behind  me, — 
260 


John  Keats  :  Poet  and  Man 

nothing  to  make  my  friends  proud  of 
my  memory ;  but  I  have  loved  the 
principle  of  beauty  in  all  things."  It 
was  the  passion  of  his  soul  that  was  real 
to  him  in  those  final  days,  not  the  ex- 
pression of  it ;  and  while  it  is  true  that 
his  passion  has  left  its  immortal  records, 
it  is  also  true  that  he  had  followed  the 
principle  of  beauty  but  a  little  way  when 
the  shadows  overtook  him. 

The  tradition  of  his  lack  of  moral 
stamina  has  perhaps  bred  the  other  mis- 
conception that  he  was  defective  on  the 
side  of  intellectual  strenuousness.  The 
beauty  of  his  work  has  by  strange  lack 
of  insight  been  taken  as  evidence  of  its 
defect  in  range  and  depth.  Keats  was 
sensuous,  as  all  great  poets  must  be,  if 
we  are  to  accept  the  testimony  of  the 
nobly  arduous  Milton ;  but  the  rich- 
ness of  his  diction  carries  with  it  the 
impression  of  immense  intellectual  re- 
source. It  is  not  beauty  of  form  and 
colour  alone  which  gives  the  "  Ode  on 
a  Grecian  Urn "  and  the  ode  "  To 
261 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

Autumn  "  their  changeless  spell  ;  it  is 
that  interior  beauty  of  which  Keats  was 
thinking  when  he  wrote  those  profound 
lines,  the  very  essence  of  his  creed : 

Beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty,  —  that  is  all 
Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know. 

For  the  highest  uses  of  thought  there 
has  been  no  greater  blunder  than  the 
division  of  the  indivisible  nature  of 
deity  into  attributes,  of  the  immortal 
soul  of  man  into  perishing  senses  and 
faculties,  of  the  seamless  garment  of  the 
universe  into  parts  and  patches.  This 
is  the  method  of  logic,  which  deals  with 
the  manifestations  and  appearances  of 
things ;  it  is  never  the  method  of  the 
imagination,  which,  by  insight,  deals 
with  the  things  themelves.  Keats's 
greatness  lay  in  his  mastery  of  the 
unity  of  life  and  his  identification  of 
the  highest  beauty  with  the  highest 
truth.  God  is  an  artist  as  fundamen- 
tally and  much  more  obviously  than 
he  is  a  moralist.  It  is  a  noble  and 
262 


John  Keats  :  Poet  and  Man 

necessary  service  which  they  render  who 
uncover  the  lines  of  moral  order  along 
which  the  universe  is  built ;  but  it  is  an 
equally  noble  and  inevitable  service  which 
they  perform  who  make  us  see  the  beauty 
which  is  not  the  ornament  of  righteous- 
ness, but  the  breathing  soul  of  it. 

Keats  had  this  vision  of  the  soul  of 
things  ;  he  was  no  idle  singer  of  sen- 
suous moods ;  he  was  a  resolute  and 
clear-sighted  pursuer  of  the  Ideal  which 
forever  flies  at  our  approach  that  our 
reluctant  feet  may  be  forever  lured  on- 
ward ;  a  passionate  lover  of  that  Ideal 
which  no  sooner  enshrines  itself  in  one 
beautiful  form  than  it  escapes  to  become 
again  a  thing  of  the  spirit.  Keats  knew 
the  ardours  rather  than  the  pleasures  of 
song,  to  recall  his  own  phrase  about 
Milton.  He  was  alive  to  the  need  of 
moral  sanity  and  power.  In  a  letter  to 
his  brothers,  after  speaking  of  the  "  Ex- 
cursion," Haydon's  pictures,  and  Haz- 
litt's  depth  of  taste  as  the  three  superior 
things  in  the  modern  world,  he  quickly 
263 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

adds :  "  Not  thus  speaking  with  any 
poor  vanity  that  works  of  genius  were 
the  first  things  in  this  world.  No  !  for 
that  sort  of  probity  and  disinterestedness 
which  such  men  as  Bailey  possess  does 
hold  and  grasp  the  tiptop  of  any  spirit- 
ual honours  that  can  be  paid  to  anything 
in  this  world;"  and  he  asks  to  be 
credited  with  a  deeper  feeling  and  de- 
votion for  uprightness  "  than  for  any 
marks  of  genius,  however  splendid." 
He  saw  with  a  keen,  clear  eye  who, 
himself  a  young  man,  could  pierce  the 
splendid  mist  which  surrounded  Byron 
in  those  days,  and  characterise  him  as  "  a 
fine  thing  in  the  sphere  of  the  worldly, 
theatrical,  and  pantomimical."  Integ- 
rity, honour,  and  courage  were  as  much 
a  part  of  Keats's  nature  as  sensitiveness 
and  the  love  of  beauty. 

"  I  could  not  live  without  the  love 
of  my  friends,"  he  writes,  ..."  but  I 
hate  a  mawkish  popularity.  ...  I  have 
not  the  slightest  feeling  of  humility 
towards  the  public  or  to  anything  in 
264 


John  Keats :  Poet  and  Man 

existence  but  the  Eternal  Being,  the 
Principle  of  Beauty,  and  the  Memory 
of  Great  Men."  George  Keats  was 
irreverent,  but  not  far  wrong,  when,  re- 
ferring to  the  poor  creature  which  some 
critics  and  literary  circles  put  in  the 
place  of  this  virile  and  vigorous  nature, 
he  said  that  his  brother  was  "  as  much 
like  the  Holy  Ghost  as  Johnny  Keats." 
Keats's  letters  are  less  mature,  less 
finished,  than  the  letters  of  Cowper  or 
of  Shelley  ;  but  they  are  more  intimate, 
more  autobiographic.  They  furnish  a 
fairly  complete  record  of  the  poet's 
moods  and  thoughts  from  the  early 
spring  of  1817  to  the  late  autumn  of 
1820,  —  the  period  of  his  most  rapid 
growth,  of  his  best  work,  and  of  his 
deepest  personal  history.  Leigh  Hunt 
saw  him  as  a  young  man,  somewhat 
under  the  middle  height,  with  a  face  full 
of  energy  and  sensibility,  a  pugnacious 
mouth,  a  bold  chin,  and  eyes  "  mellow 
and  glowing,  large,  dark,  and  sensitive." 
At  the  recital  of  a  noble  action  or  a 
265 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

beautiful  thought,  the  mouth  trembled, 
and  the  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears. 
A  strong,  virile,  sensitive  nature  evi- 
dently ;  and  the  letters  confirm  the  testi- 
mony of  the  face.  They  show  Keats 
responsive  to  the  beauty  of  the  world, 
full  of  generous  feeling,  unselfish,  high- 
minded,  with  clear  ideas  of  his  art  and  a 
large  and  growing  perception  of  its  range. 
In  "  Sleep  and  Poetry,"  which  found  a 
place  in  his  first  published  work,  the 
volume  of  1 8 17,  he  wrote  out  his  poet- 
ical creed,  —  a  creed  which  he  might 
have  touched  later  with  finer  art,  but 
which  he  never  outgrew.  After  mark- 
ing his  divergence  from  the  standards 
and  methods  of  the  preceding  period  of 
EngHsh  verse,  he  predicted  the  stages 
of  his  own  progress : 

First  the  realm  I  *11  pass 
Of  Flora  and  old  Pan  :  sleep  in  the  grass. 
Feed  upon  apples  red,  and  strawberries. 
And  choose  each  pleasure  that  my  fancy  sees. 

No  modern  poet  has  been  more  at  home 

in  that  realm  of  the  obvious  bloom  of 

266 


John  Keats:  Poet  and  Man 

the  world,  —  the  realm  of  the  Greek 
lyric  and  pastoral  poets  and  of  many 
later  singers  ;  nor  has  any  modern  poet 
brought  back  more  vividly  the  fading 
glories  of  that  realm.  But  Keats  was  to 
pass  through  that  realm,  not  to  abide 
in  it : 

And  can  I  ever  bid  these  joys  farewell  ? 

Yes,  I  must  pass  them  for  a  nobler  life. 

Where  I  may  find  the  agonies,  the  strife 

Of  human  hearts. 

"  Scenery  is  fine,  but  human  nature  is 
finer,"  he  wrote  in  prose.  "  The  sward 
is  richer  for  the  tread  of  a  real  nervous 
English  foot ;  the  eagle's  nest  is  finer 
for  the  mountaineer  having  looked  into 
it."  He  had  steeped  himself  in  the 
rich  beauty  of  first  impressions  ;  but  he 
was  to  make  the  steep  ascent  where  great 
thoughts  are  nurtured  like  the  young 
eagles  in  the  nests  seen  only  by  the 
mountaineer.  There  were  possibilities 
of  heroic  endeavour  in  him.  He  knew 
what  self-denial,  self-control,  and  soli- 
tude of  spirit  lie  before  one  who  would 
267 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

master  any  art,  but  he  did  not  draw 
back.  "  I  must  think  that  difficulties 
nerve  the  spirit  of  man  ;  they  make  our 
prime  objects  a  refuge  as  well  as  a  pas- 
sion." It  was  a  clear  insight  that  thus 
early  discerned  this  deep  truth  in  the  life 
of  the  artist.  To  wring  from  great  en- 
deavour not  only  the  achievement,  but 
the  joy  of  it ;  to  make  the  agony  of  toil 
contribute  to  the  finished  work  a  depth 
and  ripeness  denied  to  skill  divorced 
from  profound  experience,  —  this  is  to 
have  mastered  the  secret  of  art.  Keats 
discerned  a  larger  world  than  that  he 
had  yet  walked  in,  a  deeper  vision  of 
life  than  that  he  had  yet  seen ;  and  he 
knew  that  these  things  were  to  come  to 
him  through  the  expansion  of  his  own 
nature  under  the  training  of  life,  and  the 
enlargement  of  his  thought  through 
wider  knowledge.  In  a  letter  written  to 
John  Taylor  in  1 8 1 8  he  says  :  "  I  know 
nothing;  I  have  read  nothing;  and  I 
mean  to  follow  Solomon's  directions, 
*  Get  learning ;  get  understanding.*  I 
26S 


John  Keats  :   Poet  and  Man 

find  earlier  days  are  gone  by ;  I  find 
that  I  have  no  enjoyment  in  the  world 
but  continual  drinking  of  knowledge. 
I  find  there  is  no  worthy  pursuit  but  the 
idea  of  doing  some  good  in  the  world. 
Some  do  it  with  their  society;  some 
with  their  wit ;  some  with  their  benevo- 
lence ;  some  with  a  sort  of  power  of 
conferring  pleasure  and  good-humour 
on  all  they  meet,  and  in  a  thousand 
ways, —  all  dutiful  to  the  command  of 
Great  Nature.  There  is  but  one  way 
for  me.  The  road  lies  through  appli- 
cation, study,  and  thought ;  I  will  pur- 
sue it." 

"  The  road  lies  through  application, 
study,  and  thought."  Would  it  be  pos- 
sible to  state  more  simply  the  con- 
ditions attached  to  the  production  of 
the  greatest  works  of  art,  —  the  "  Divine 
Comedy,"  Shakespeare's  tragedies,  Goe- 
the's "Faust,"  for  instance  ?  Surely  one 
need  not  search  farther  to  discover  the 
possibilities  of  strenuous  intellectual  and 
spiritual  development  which  were  in  the 
269 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

mind  and  heart  of  Keats,  nor  how  sec- 
ondary was  the  purely  sensuous  quality 
in  which  some  critics  have  found  his  sole 
poetic  gift.  In  that  sensuousness  lay 
the  promise  of  a  prime  which,  had  it 
come,  might  have  recalled  the  noontide 
of  Spenser  and  Shakespeare. 

Keats  saw  the  road,  but  he  was  not  to 
take  it;  disease  and  death  had  written 
"  No  thoroughfare  "  across  it ;  the  great 
nature  was  to  give  us  only  the  prodigal 
richness  of  its  first  blossoming ;  the 
ripening  summer  and  the  fruitful  autumn 
were  shared  in  other  fields  than  ours. 

But  how  deep  was  the  loveliness  of 
that  early  putting  forth  of  the  young  im- 
agination !  It  was  no  delicate  fancy,  no 
light  touch  of  skill,  no  precocious  bright- 
ness of  spirit,  which  Keats  gave  the 
world  :  it  was  pure  imagination,  —  that 
rarest  and  most  precious  because  most 
creative  of  gifts.  The  ode  "  To  Au- 
tumn "  and  "  The  Eve  of  Saint  Agnes  " 
are  beautiful  to  the  very  heart;  they  are 
not  clothed  with  beauty  ;  they  are  beauty 
270 


John  Keats  :  Poet  and  Man 

itself.  There  is  a  vast  difference  between 
thought  turned  into  poetry,  such  as  one 
sometimes  comes  upon  in  Goethe  and 
Wordsworth,  and  thought  that  was  born 
poetry.  Since  Spenser  Keats  is  the  most 
poetical  of  poets,  because  his  thought 
was  poetry,  —  because  he  saw  with  the 
imagination;  and  what  he  saw  flashed 
into  images,  figures,  metaphors,  —  the 
fresh  and  glowing  speech  of  poetry.  In 
this  process  his  soul  was  in  contact  with 
the  soul  of  things,  not  with  their  surface 
beauty.  "  When  I  wrote  it,"  he  said  of 
one  of  his  poems,  "it  was  a  regular  step- 
ping of  the  imagination  toward  a  truth." 
And  again :  "  What  the  imagination 
seizes  as  beauty  must  be  truth,  whether 
it  existed  before  or  not.  .  .  .  The  im- 
agination may  be  compared  to  Adam's 
dream :  he  awoke  and  found  it  truth." 
There  is  the  secret  of  Keats's  genius  and 
art,  —  the  secret  and  the  promise.  He 
left  much,  and  of  the  rarest;  he  would 
have  done  more.  It  is  enough  that, 
except  Shakespeare,  no  English  poet  has 
271 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

found  such  colour  in  our  speech,  has 
made  it  linger  in  the  ear  in  phrase  so  rich 
and  full.  This  magical  note,  heard  only 
in  the  greatest  poetry,  is  heard  in  Keats, 
—  the  evidence  alike  of  the  rare  quality 
of  his  genius  and  its  depth  and  power. 


272 


Chapter  VII 

Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

IT  is  characteristic  of  a  mind  of  the 
first  order  that  its  relations  to  life 
are  never  at  any  moment  completely 
discerned,  —  that  with  every  turn  of 
events  a  new  light  shines  from  it,  and 
for  every  generation  it  has  a  fresh  word. 
For  this  reason  the  greatest  books  are 
always  contemporary  ;  they  are  in  vital 
contact  with  the  life  that  is,  while  they 
conserve  and  illustrate  the  life  that  was. 
In  a  noble  sense,  they  are  our  masters, 
and  we  cannot  escape  from  them.  They 
constantly  compel  us  to  study  them 
anew;  in  every  hour  when  we  believe 
we  have  mastered  them,  they  reverse 
the  relation,  and  silently  re-establish 
their  supremacy.  The  world  has  been 
reading  the  Book  of  Job  for  at  least 
three  thousand  years ;  but  it  has  only 
18  273 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

begun  to  read  that  sublime  argument 
with  a  true  discernment  of  its  passionate 
impulse  and  its  prophetic  drift.  The 
measure  of  greatness  in  a  book  is  the 
extent  and  closeness  of  its  correspond- 
ence with  life ;  and  we  must  wait  on  life 
to  discover  that  which  life  alone  can 
evoke  by  fitting  the  text  to  the  com- 
ment, by  adding  the  fact  to  the  illustra- 
tion. Of  no  writer  is  this  truer  than  of 
Dante,  —  so  long  familiar,  so  intensely 
studied,  so  widely  discussed.  Insight 
however  keen  and  true,  scholarship 
however  searching  and  profound,  have 
left  the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  as  fresh,  as 
suggestive,  as  inexhaustible  as  it  was 
when  it  came,  without  note  or  com- 
ment, into  the  hands  of  Petrarch  and 
Boccaccio.  Life  is,  after  all,  the  only 
authoritative  and  final  commentator  on 
Dante ;  and  life  has  yet  in  reserve  mean- 
ings which  a  longer  experience  and  a 
vaster  history  will  break  open  to  the 
very  heart.  When  a  great  nature,  speak- 
ing out  of  that  unconsciousness  which, 
274 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

to  borrow  Froebefs  phrase,  is  rest  in 
God,  gives  its  interpretation  of  life,  all 
history  must  disapprove  or  confirm  it. 
The  judgment  of  any  particular  age 
is  at  the  best  provisional,  and  may  be 
overruled  a  century  or  ten  centuries 
later.  It  is  part  of  the  greatness  of 
such  nature  that  it  compels  judgment 
from  each  successive  generation.  As 
the  stern  figure  of  the  man  upon  whom 
the  women  of  Ravenna  looked  askance, 
because  he  had  walked  in  Hell,  passed 
through  the  streets  of  the  cities  of  his 
exile,  a  silent  judgment  upon  corruption 
and  frivolity  went  with  him.  Such  he- 
roic fidelity,  such  lofty  scorn  of  compro- 
mise, such  toil  of  spirit,  searched  out  and 
laid  bare  the  meanness  and  shallowness 
of  current  ideals  and  conduct.  When 
such  a  man  sets  foot  in  any  community, 
a  standard  of  character  becomes  distinct 
and  commanding,  and  compels  clear  dis- 
crimination between  the  base  and  the 
noble,  the  heroic  and  the  cowardly.  It 
is  as  impossible  to  keep  Dante  out  of 
275 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

sight,  in  measuring  achievement  in  Verona 
and  Lucca  and  Ravenna  at  the  beginning 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  as  to  exclude 
from  the  field  of  vision  the  Alps  when  one 
looks  at  the  plains  of  Lombardy. 

As  with  the  man,  so  with  the  work : 
they  are  both  come  not  to  bring  peace, 
but  a  sword.  Deeply  significant  is  this 
quality  inherent  in  every  great  work  of 
literature  which  compels  each  successive 
age  to  measure  by  these  enduring  stand- 
ards its  own  achievements.  Every  epic 
recalls  Homer ;  every  drama  evokes 
Shakespeare.  The  necessity  of  this  con- 
stant reference  to  the  master-works  — 
this  perpetual  return  of  thought  to  them, 
this  perennial  renewal  of  interest  in  them 
—  explains  the  fact  that  every  new  age 
and  every  new  movement  in  literature 
invariably  attempts  a  new  translation 
of  the  masterpieces.  We  are  never 
done  with  Homer.  Chapman  gave  us 
the  Elizabethan  conception  of  the  old 
poet,  —  turbulent,  dramatic,  splendid  of 
colour  J  Pppe,  the  conception  of  the  so^ 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

called  classical  age  in  English  letters, — 
smooth,  melodious,  artificial ;  Cowper, 
the  Homer  of  the  poetic  reaction  of 
the  first  quarter  of  the  century,  —  unaf- 
fected, simple,  sincere.  We  have  the 
Homer  of  every  recent  century,  and  we 
have  also  the  Homer  of  the  romantic 
school,  of  the  classical  school,  of  the 
dramatic  school,  of  the  ballad  school. 
Every  age  and  every  literary  movement 
pours  an  early  libation  at  this  shrine. 
This  tribute  is  not  paid  to  Homer  the 
traditional  classic,  but  to  Homer  the 
great  artist,  who  felt  and  caught  in  speech 
something  of  the  immortal  freshness,  the 
tumultuous  rush,  of  life.  There  will 
never  be  a  final  translation  of  Homer  or 
of  Dante  into  English  :  it  is  only  to 
those  who  live  at  their  feet  that  the 
mountains  appear  the  same  from  day  to 
day ;  to  those  who  travel  they  are  always 
looming  up  in  new  relations  to  each 
other,  —  they  are  always  discovering 
changes  of  outline  and  mass,  as  they  are 
seen  from  different  points  of  view. 
277 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

This  prophetic  quality  —  which  speaks 
not  to  its  own  time,  but  to  posterity  — 
is  in  the  man  before  it  is  in  the  work  ; 
it  cannot  be  in  the  work  unless  it  first 
be  in  the  man.  In  all  literature  there  is 
no  man  so  completely  possessed  by  it  as 
Dante,  —  none  whose  life  and  work  are 
so  entirely  fused,  none  whose  life  and 
work  so  clearly  disclose  the  conditions 
out  of  which  the  greatest  works  of  art 
issue ;  none,  therefore,  so  unmistakably 
and  sublimely  prophetic.  For  the  es- 
sence of  prophecy  is  not  the  discernment 
of  the  coming  event,  —  the  sudden  flash 
of  light  on  the  distant  point ;  it  is  rather 
the  illustration  of  those  deep  and  funda-. 
mental  laws  which,  once  clearly  seen, 
once  perfectly  obeyed,  make  the  future 
luminous  and  comprehensible.  The 
soul  that  has  seen  God,  and  grasped 
once  and  forever  the  law  of  righteous- 
ness that  runs  its  divine  illumination 
through  the  universe,  knows  the  course 
of  events,  and  can  predict  to  a  certainty 
the  main  drift  of  history.  Such  a  soul 
278 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

will  never  be  confused  by  the  glitter  of 
easy  prosperity,  or  the  eager  and  auda- 
cious energy  of  materialism ;  it  will 
always  search  for  the  moral  quality  be- 
hind the  apparent  success,  and  measure 
progress  by  the  advance  or  the  decay  of 
character.  It  will  discern  the  approach 
of  disaster  when  others  see  only  the 
shows  of  prosperity;  it  will  recognise 
the  coming  of  empire  when  others  see 
only  the  decline  and  decay  of  power. 
There  are  prophets  the  use  of  whose 
gift  is  confined  to  infrequent  moments, 
and  there  are  prophets  whose  grasp  of 
the  principles  of  life  is  so  powerful, 
and  whose  insight  into  its  significance 
is  so  sure  and  penetrating,  that  history 
unfolds  before  them  like  an  unrolled 
map.  To  really  see  God  once  is  to  see 
him  forever ;  to  get  at  the  heart  of  life 
in  any  age  is  to  master  it  for  all  ages. 
Such  a  man  was  Dante,  —  when  we  get 
the  full  significance  of  his  life  and  his 
work,  perhaps  the  greatest  man  in  his- 
tory ;  the  greatest  because  of  this  pro- 
279 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

phetic  quality,  this  laying  bare  of  the 
laws  upon  which  life  rests,  this  sublime 
reading  of  the  page  of  history  before  it 
has  become  legible  by  holding  it  between 
the  mortal  eye  and  that  light  whence  all 
illumination  comes. 

The  uses  of  such  a  man  as  Dante  are 
manifold,  and  they  have  not  lacked  rec- 
ord. Some  of  them  have  always  been 
evident ;  others  are  beginning  to  make 
themselves  clear ;  others  still  wait  the 
unfolding  of  the  fiiture.  To  have  seen 
life  under  the  conditions  of  eternity  is 
to  become  in  every  age  a  stern  and  awful 
judge,  a  silent  and  majestic  teacher. 
Dante  could  afford  to  spend  his  life 
apart  from  Florence ;  he  can  afford  to 
wait  for  the  complete  and  final  recog- 
nition of  what  he  was  and  what  he 
achieved.  Our  concern  Is  not  with  his 
fame,  but  with  his  lesson  for  us.  As  a 
poet  or  maker,  as  an  artist,  he  has  for 
our  time,  with  its  distractions  and  temp- 
tations for  those  who  touch  in  any  way 
the  ideal,  an  invigorating  and  sanative 
280 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

quality.  Art  is  not  inspired  by  art,  but 
by  life ;  we  shall  never  write  great  books 
by  reading  Dante ;  the  great  books  must 
be  in  us  as  they  were  in  him.  But  there 
are  moods  which  favour  the  growth  of 
art;  there  are  prosperous  influences 
which  make  some  days  fertile  above  all 
the  year.  And  while  the  secret  of  the 
great  artist  is  incommunicable,  his  atti- 
tude toward  life,  his  use  of  materials,  his 
thought  of  the  thing  he  was  sent  to  do, 
and  his  manner  of  doing  it,  are  uncon- 
cealed. The  greater  the  man  the  sim- 
pler are  his  methods.  There  is  no 
artifice,  no  magic,  no  esoteric  skill  about 
the  methods  of  greatness  ;  they  have  the 
elemental  simplicity  and  breadth  of  the 
processes  of  Nature.  "My  secrets  have 
been  few,"  said  Savonarola  on  the  rack, 
"because  my  purposes  have  been  great." 
At  a  time  when  the  men  who  make 
whatever  literature  we  possess  are  under 
such  pressure  from  conflicting  tenden- 
cies, when  skill  is  so  constantly  confused 
with  the  creative  power,  when  the  noise 
281 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

of  the  moment  makes  the  silence  of  the 
centuries  so  difficult  to  believe  or  rest  in, 
Dante  has  resources  of  service  such  as 
no  other  poet  offers.  An  age  of  expan- 
sion needs  to  study  the  man  whose 
spirit  knew  all  the  rigours  of  concentra- 
tion and  all  the  anguish  of  intensity  ;  an 
age  of  many-sided  activity  and  large  tol- 
erance of  pleasure  stands  in  special  need 
of  the  poet  who  felt  the  flames  of  Hell 
blown  upon  him,  and  who  heard  the  bit- 
ter rain  of  tears  in  Purgatory.  Not  that 
our  age  is  less  noble  than  his,  or  our 
spiritual  vision  less  true  than  his,  but 
that  our  peculiar  temptations  find  in  him 
their  special   antagonist. 

What  made  Dante  the  supreme  artist 
that  he  was  is  a  question  which  cannot  be 
answered  until  we  know  more  about  the 
individual  spirit  than  we  know  to-day, 
—  a  good  deal  more  than  current  ways 
of  looking  at  and  explaining  genius  are 
likely  to  secure  for  us.  But  leaving  the 
fundamental  impulse  to  the  mystery 
which  hides  every  point  of  contact  be- 
282 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

tween  the  individual  life  and  the  sustain- 
ing principle  of  life,  there  are  certain 
things  about  Dante  which  go  far  to 
account  for  the  greatness  of  his  work,  — 
which  we  may  accept,  therefore,  as  the 
methods  and  conditions  which  foster  the 
production  of  the  greatest  works  of  art. 
In  these  things  we  discover  the  prophetic 
character  of  Dante  as  a  literary  artist; 
prophetic,  because  the  methods  and  con- 
ditions were  in  accordance  with  the  law 
of  fertility  and  productiveness,  and  cer- 
tain, therefore,  in  some  form,  and  with 
the  modifications  involved  in  changed 
habits  of  life,  to  reappear  in  connection 
with  all  work  of  kindred  range  and 
power. 

At  the  first  glance  no  career  seems  so 
unfavourable  to  the  production  of  great 
art  of  any  kind  as  Dante's.  He  was 
fortunate  in  his  age ;  there  were  "  ten 
silent  centuries  "  waiting  for  him  ;  there 
was  a  new  world  of  thought  and  art  ris- 
ing out  of  the  long  repose,  the  rich  soil 
of  the  Middle  Ages.  He  was  fortunate 
283 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

in  the  city  of  his  birth,  —  that  historic 
city  not  yet  enriched  by  the  loving  genius 
of  the  Renaissance,  but  already  beautiful ; 
turbulent  with  the  fierce  life  of  powerful 
personalities ;  the  very  nursery  of  great 
minds  and  lofty  ideals.  He  was  fortu- 
nate too  in  that  vision  of  virginal  loveli- 
ness which  crossed  his  path  in  his  ninth 
year,  never  again  to  be  absent  from  any 
world,  seen  or  unseen,  in  which  he  found 
himself.  But  here,  to  an  eye  which  sees 
the  soil  and  not  the  seed,  the  prosperous 
conditions  ended.  The  time  of  prepara- 
tion was  golden  ;  but  the  time  of  perform- 
ance, the  years  in  which  vision  and  toil 
are  one,  those  sublime  years  when  a  man's 
soul  goes  out  of  him  in  imperishable 
word  and  deed,  —  over  these  years  what 
blackness  of  weariness  and  sorrow ;  what 
brooding  of  storm  and  strife !  Exiled 
at  thirty-seven,  wandering  henceforth 
from  city  to  city,  from  court  to  court, 
pursued  always  by  that  shadow  of  a  lost 
happiness,  accompanied  always  by  that 
spirit  of  fierce  indignation  and  fiery  revolt, 
284 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

beset  always  by  the  strange  face  and  the 
reluctant  hand,  always  sore  at  heart  and 
solitary  in  spirit,  —  surely  never  was  a 
great  artist  so  hopelessly  cast  upon  ad- 
verse conditions  !  And  yet  these  con- 
ditions, which  would  have  broken  a  soul 
Jess  hardy,  a  genius  less  self-sustaining, 
became  contributing  forces  to  the  depth 
and  power  of  his  work. 

If  he  had  been  like  Heine  or  Alfred 
de  Musset,  he  would  have  spent  himself 
in  delicate  but  piercing  irony,  in  exquisite 
transcriptions  of  a  baffled  and  broken 
spirit.  But  he  was  the  child  of  his  age 
only  in  so  far  as  he  used  its  speech  and 
suffered  it  to  strike  the  chords  of  his 
soul  ;  the  music  was  in  him,  not  in  the 
tempest  which  evoked  it.  His  mastery 
of  his  time  lay  in  the  fact  that  it  devel- 
oped harmony  instead  of  discord  in  him  ; 
that  for  its  buffe tings  he  gave  it  an  im- 
mortal song.  So  far  removed  was  he 
from  the  weakness  of  despair,  from  the 
pitiful  malady  of  pessimism  which  falls 
helpless  because  an  obstacle  lies  in  its 
285 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

path,  —  that  disease  of  temperament  so 
often  mistaken  in  these  days  for  genius. 
When  one  remembers  what  depths  of 
pride  and  sensitiveness  were  in  Dante, 
what  possibihties  of  suffering  were  latent 
in  the  very  nature  of  the  man,  and  what 
fortune  befell  him,  the  sufferings  of  the 
whole  school  of  pessimists  and  sentimen- 
talists become  things  of  mockery  and 
shame.  They  sing  out  of  their  weakness, 
and  he  out  of  his  strength :  they  bend 
and  fall ;  he  rises  and  triumphs.  "  Can 
I  not  everywhere  behold  the  mirrors 
of  the  sun  and  stars?  speculate  on 
sweetest  truths  under  any  sky,  without 
first  giving  myself  up  inglorious,  nay, 
ignominious,  to  the  populace  and  city 
of  Florence?"  These  words  were  not 
lightly  written :  they  issued  out  of  a 
nature  which  felt  the  constant  anguish 
of  banishment.  "  Through  all  the  parts 
where  this  language  [Italian]  is  spoken," 
writes  the  same  hand  in  the  "  Convito,'* 
"  a  wanderer,  wellnigh  a  beggar,  I  have 
gone,  showing  against  my  will  the  wound 
286 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

of  fortune.  Truly  I  have  been  a  vessel 
without  sail  or  rudder,  driven  to  diverse 
ports,  estuaries,  and  shores  by  that  hot 
blast,  —  the  breath  of  grievous  poverty ; 
and  I  have  shown  myself  to  the  eyes  of 
many  who  perhaps,  through  some  fame 
of  me,  had  imagined  me  in  quite  other 
guise, — in  whose  view  not  only  was  my 
person  debased,  but  every  work  of  mine, 
whether  done  or  yet  to  do,  became  of 
less  account."  These  words  betray  no 
easy  acceptance  of  hardship :  they  have, 
rather,  a  fiery  intensity ;  there  is  a  soul 
glowing  with  indignation  behind  them, 
ready  on  the  instant  to  break  into  a  blaze 
of  speech.  Again  and  again  the  sense 
of  wrong,  the  never-ceasing  heart-ache, 
bursts  through  the  self-restraint  of  that 
strong  nature. 

.  .  .  How  salt  a  savour  hath 
The  bread  of  others,  and  how  hard  a  path 
To  climb  and  to  descend  the  stranger's  stairs ! 

Never  were  the  loneliness  and  hard- 
ness of  the  world  to  the  banished  more 
deeply  written  than  in  these  lines ;  never 
287 


'    Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

was  his  homesickness  more  vividly  sug- 
gested than  in  another  familiar  passage : 
"  I  have  pity  for  those,  whosoever  they 
are,  that  languish  in  exile,  and  revisit  their 
country  only  in  dreams."  That  which 
gives  experience  its  significance  is  depth 
of  feeling,  the  sensitiveness  of  nature 
which  receives  the  deepest  imprint  of 
events.  In  this  capacity  for  getting  the 
very  last  anguish  out  of  any  kind  of  pain, 
Dante  was  pre-eminent;  his  nature  was 
as  sensitive  as  it  was  passionate;  the  in- 
tensity which  was  his  strength  as  a  poet 
was  his  misery  as  a  man.  Among  all 
those  who  have  wandered  heartsick  and 
longing  for  death,  his  is  the  figure  which 
instantly  stands  before  us  whenever  the 
word  "  exile  "  is  spoken. 

His  reaction,  therefore,  from  outward 
misfortune  to  inward  power  is  the  more 
notable.  He  escaped  out  of  the  mesh 
which  the  sense  of  injustice  and  the  bit- 
terness of  poverty  always  spread  for  the 
lofty  spirit  into  one  of  the  great  princi- 
ples of  art.  So  close,  so  absorbing,  so 
28S 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

continuous  was  the  immediate  contact  of 
his  heart  with  the  most  piercing  and 
painful  facts  of  life,  that  his  work,  en- 
riched as  it  is  with  world-wide  knowl- 
edge, rests  as  directly  and  inevitably 
upon  life  as  the  mountains  rest  on  the 
sustaining  mass  of  the  globe.  Through 
two  parts  of  the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  the 
pain  of  existence,  that  mysterious  birth- 
pang  which  every  human  soul  carries 
to  the  grave,  never  leaves  us.  When 
Goethe,  a  student  at  Strasbourg,  read  for 
the  first  time,  and  in  a  tumult  of  soul,  the 
plays  of  Shakespeare,  he  said  that  he  felt 
as  if  he  had  been  looking  into  the  book 
of  Fate,  with  the  hurricane  of  life  tossing 
its  leaves  to  and  fro.  In  the  "  Inferno  " 
and  the  "Purgatorio"  that  appalHng 
wind  beats  upon  us  at  every  turn ;  there 
are  times  when  we  shield  ourselves  from 
it,  as  Dante  covered  his  face  from  the 
scorching  flames  that  played  about  him. 
Never  was  such  intensity  put  into  any 
book  before ;  never,  perhaps,  will  such  in- 
tensity burn  on  any  later  page.  The  book 
19  -  289 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

had  made  him  lean  for  many  a  year,  because 
it  was  made  of  his  own  substance.  No 
book  ever  swept  a  wider  field  of  thought, 
or  embedded  itself  more  completely  in 
historical  incident  and  character ;  and  yet 
no  book  ever  issued  more  directly  out 
of  the  life  of  its  writer.  There  lies  one 
secret  of  its  power,  of  its  limitless  corre- 
spondence with  life ;  there  lies  the  great 
principle  of  art  into  mastery  of  which 
Dante  was  driven  by  his  very  misery. 
Phillips  Brooks  somewhere  says  that  the 
only  way  to  flee  away  from  God  is  to  flee 
into  him :  Dante  was  driven  by  his  an- 
guish into  the  very  heart  of  art.  Every- 
thing else  fell  from  him  ;  there  remained 
only  this  last  refuge.  If  he  had  been  less 
great  in  vision  and  in  labour,  he  would 
have  missed  the  sublime  consolation  of 
making  his  own  sorrows  the  key  to  the 
anguish  of  the  world,  —  of  discerning  in 
his  own  tumultuous  experience  the  record 
of  all  human  life.  To  a  pure  man  there 
was  no  other  key  to  Hell. 

Dante  makes  it  clear  to  us  that  the 
290 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

great  man  and  the  great  artist  are  identi- 
cal :  the  artist  is  the  man,  not  one  form 
of  his  activity,  one  side  of  his  nature.  A 
work  of  talent  is  a  thing  of  skill,  and  may- 
be divorced  from  experience,  from  char- 
acter; but  a  work  of  genius  is  a  piece  of 
the  man's  self.  There  may  be  incalcu- 
lable toil  upon  it,  flawless  workmanship 
may  disclose  itself  in  every  detail ;  but 
the  motive,  the  conception,  the  informing 
idea,  are  out  of  the  man's  soul.  He  does 
not  fashion  them  ;  he  is  powerless  to  in- 
vent them  ;  they  grow  within  him  ;  they 
are  the  children  of  his  experience.  It  is 
as  impossible  to  separate  the  "  Divine 
Comedy  "  from  Dante  as  to  separate  the 
fruit  from  the  tree  which  bore  it.  It  is 
so  distinct  that  it  may  be  plucked  and 
yet  remain  entire,  so  different  that  it  be- 
comes nourishment  for  other  and  alien 
life,  but  it  is  of  the  very  substance  of  the 
tree.  Dante's  poem  has  a  significance  as 
wide  and  deep  as  any  that  has  been 
written  ;  but  its  universality  comes  of  the 
very  concentration  of  experience  out  of 
291 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

which  it  issued.  All  the  rays  of  thought 
were  focussed  and  burned  into  his  very 
soul  before  they  issued  in  art.  What  we 
call  experience  is  the  personal  test  of  life, 
—  the  personal  contact  with  it;  it  in- 
volves the  kind  of  knowledge  which  a 
man  possesses  when  he  is  able  to  say,  "I 
saw  it,  I  touched  it,  I  felt  it."  This  is  that 
first-hand  knowledge  out  of  which  all  the 
sciences  have  grown ;  stage  by  stage,  art 
has  expanded  out  of  it ;  step  by  step,  the 
earth  has  been  discovered  and  mastered 
by  it;  above  all,  it  has  been  the  road 
through  which  those  supreme  and  final 
truths  which  we  call  religious  have  come 
into  the  world.  They  are  not  its  prod- 
ucts ;  but  through  it,  as  through  an  open 
door,  they  have  come  to  succour  and  in- 
spire. It  is  a  fact  of  the  deepest  signifi- 
cance that  the  Bible,  instead  of  giving  us 
an  orderly,  logical  system  of  truth,  gives 
us  largely  history  so  interpreted  that  it 
illustrates  and  reveals  truth.  When 
principles  are  stated  abstractly,  it  is  al- 
ways to  meet  some  pressing  need,  some 
292 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

peculiar  condition  or  stage  of  develop- 
ment. One  aspect  is  presented  to  the 
Hebrew,  another  to  the  Greek,  and  still 
another  to  the  Roman.  God  speaks  on 
human  occasion ;  the  prophetic  mood  is 
evoked  by  historic  necessity ;  Christ  ad- 
dresses himself  to  the  immediate  group, 
to  the  incident  or  event  of  the  hour ;  he 
uses  invariably  the  nearest  illustration. 
It  is  through  these  lowly  doors  that  he 
passes  into  the  region  of  universal  truth. 
The  Bible  is,  therefore,  the  supreme 
book  of  experience ;  it  shows  the  divine 
brooding  over  the  human  and  shining 
into  it,  wherever  and  whenever  the  two 
come  in  contact;  and  these  points  of 
contact  constitute  experience.  This  is 
the  method  of  all  the  great  teachers  ;  not 
by  abstraction,  but  by  realisation,  is  truth 
appropriated  and  made  a  part  of  human 
life. 

Capacity  for  experience  is  one  of  the 

measures  of  greatness.     If  this  line  were 

run  through  literature,  it  would  separate 

all  writers   of  the   truest   insight   from 

293 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation  , 

those  who  charm  us  by  some  other  and 
secondary  gift.  The  experiencing  man 
steadily  widens  and  deepens  with  the  un- 
folding of  his  life  history ;  every  event 
means  for  him  a  fresh  glimpse  of  truth ; 
every  full  hour  of  emotion  or  work,  a 
ripening  of  the  spirit.  It  is  profoundly 
interesting  to  follow  the  steady  growth 
of  such  a  nature  as  Shakespeare's,  not 
so  much  by  processes  of  thought  as  by 
processes  of  life.  For  the  most  part 
unconsciously  to  himself,  life  distils  its 
meaning  into  his  soul  through  the  silent 
but  ceaseless  opening  and  expansion  of 
his  mind  and  heart.  Sensitive  to  every 
touch  of  the  outward  world,  responsive 
to  every  appeal  through  the  senses,  alive 
to  every  suggestion  to  the  spirit,  intent 
not  to  shun  but  to  share  the  full  move- 
ment of  life,  —  such  a  nature  presents  an 
ever-widening  contact  with  the  whole  of 
things,  and  gains  an  ever-deepening  in- 
sight into  their  meaning.  A  man  like 
Macaulay,  on  the  other  hand,  whom 
Bagehot  rightly  describes  as  a  non-ex- 
294 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

periencing  nature,  may  have  many  gifts, 
but  has  no  true  insight.  He  may  por- 
tray with  striking  vividness  the  thing 
that  has  taken  place,  but  he  does  not 
see  or  feel  the  soul  of  it ;  he  may  add 
constantly  to  his  store  of  information, 
but  he  does  not  grow  rich  in  that  wis- 
dom to  which  the  secret  of  life  is  an 
open  secret. 

The  great  artists  often  come  slowly 
and  painfully  to  the  consciousness  of 
their  work  and  their  power ;  but  these 
things  once  discovered,  the  channels 
that  feed  them  are  always  deepening 
and  widening.  Shakespeare  might  have 
made  good  use  of  the  repose  and  leisure 
of  Oxford ;  but  he  was  independent  of 
special  instruction,  because  he  was  so  apt 
a  pupil  in  that  greater  university  framed 
for  the  training  of  souls  like  his.  He 
began  with  the  fresh  and  buoyant  de- 
light of  the  senses ;  he  read  with  such 
intelligence  as  no  historian  has  ever 
possessed  the  long  and  stormy  story 
of  his  race ;  he  brooded  over  those 
295 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

questions  that  are  a  haunting  pain  to 
the  finest  souls ;  he  came  at  last,  in  his 
serene  maturity,  to  a  rare  and  beautiful 
poise  of  nature,  —  senses,  mind,  and  soul 
had,  each  in  turn,  received  the  direct  im- 
print of  life,  and  out  of  that  education 
came  the  vision  which  discerned  and  the 
faculty  which  fashioned  the  world  of  the 
"  Tempest."  First  "  Romeo  and  Juliet," 
then  "  Henry  V.,"  then  "  Hamlet,"  then 
the  "  Tempest ; "  so  runs  the  story  of 
a  soul  nourished  upon  life,  and  making 
every  separate  stage  of  its  growth  in  the 
order  of  nature  bear  a  richer  and  deeper 
harvest  of  art.  Not  so  wide,  so  many- 
sided,  but  deeper  even  than  Shake- 
speare's contact  with  life  through 
experience  was  Dante's.  Shakespeare 
suffered,  as  every  great  mind  must,  in 
this  long  travail  which  we  call  life ;  but 
he  was  not  cut  and  stung  by  personal 
injustice;  he  had  the  ease  which  material 
prosperity  brought  with  it.  Dante  bore 
the  long  bitterness  of  poverty.  The 
only  reflige  for  a  soul  so  beset  was  to 
296 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

search  life  to  its  very  depths.  If  pain  is 
to  be  one's  lot,  then  feel  it  most  keenly 
that  one  may  find  the  very  heart  of  it,  — 
that  was  the  attitude  of  Dante.  No  man 
suffers  from  choice ;  but  since  suffering 
must  come,  the  great  nature  will  drain  it 
of  whatever  moral  vigour  and  spiritual 
insight  it  may  impart. 

Dante  did  more  than  this :  he  gained 
its  indirect  as  well  as  its  direct  enrich- 
ment ;  he  made  it  contribute  to  the 
beauty  of  his  work.  There  are,  it  is 
true,  arid  passages  in  the  "  Divine  Com- 
edy ;  "  but  when  one  remembers  what 
material  is  wrought  into  it,  how  vast  its 
scope  is,  and  how  elaborate  its  scheme 
or  groundwork,  it  is  amazing  that  the 
current  moves  so  rapidly,  and  that  the 
pauses  of  artistic  progression  are  so  few. 
The  whole  poem  is  inspired  with  clear, 
coherent  purpose ;  it  flows  together ;  it 
unfolds  by  virtue  of  an  interior  force 
which  plays  freely  and  masterfully 
through  every  part  of  it,  and  gives  it 
unity  of  structure  and  of  beauty  no  less 
297 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

than  unity  of  idea.  To  achieve  this 
supreme  effect  of  art,  this  fusion  of 
materials,  this  perfection  of  form,  a 
supreme  eifort  of  the  whole  nature  is 
demanded  :  this  kind  cometh  not  save 
by  prayer  and  fasting.  The  steady  con- 
centration of  mind  involved  in  such  a 
work  is  a  moral  achievement  of  the 
highest  order ;  the  patient  brooding  over 
the  theme,  tracing  its  relations  through 
wide  fields  of  knowledge  and  history, 
detecting  its  analogies  and  illustrations 
in  the  sequence  of  human  and  natural 
fact  and  law,  is  an  intellectual  achieve- 
ment possible  only  to  the  greatest  minds. 
Art  is  mastered  not  by  the  violent,  but 
by  the  self-sacrificing,  the  patient,  and 
the  enduring.  It  does  not  respond  to 
half-hearted  devotion ;  it  is  won  by  no 
intermittent  service ;  it  tolerates  no  com- 
promise with  pleasure,  with  conventions, 
with  other  and  alien  aims  and  occupa- 
tions. The  painter  who  is  half-artist  and 
half-courtier  secures  his  easy  popularity, 
his  quick  returns,  his  social  successes, 
298 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

his  luxury ;  but  amid  all  the  applaud- 
ing voices  that  reach  him  he  listens  in 
vain  for  the  Incorruptible  voice  of  fame. 
To  Michael  Angelo,  silent  and  solitary 
on  his  lonely  scaffolding,  sternly  intent 
upon  his  task,  sternly  indifferent  to  the 
praise  of  the  palace  or  the  cheer  of  the 
square,  that  voice  came  clear  and  sus- 
taining. Many  wait  for  the  sound  of 
that  voice  ;  but  it  is  heard  by  those  only 
who  shut  their  souls  against  all  other 
and  lesser  voices.  Dante  heard  that 
voice.  Sounds  that  mingle  with  most 
lives,  sounds  sweet  with  the  long  usage 
of  affection,  and  dear  to  the  heart  that 
leans  on  familiar  things,  were  denied 
him ;  but  he  had  for  consolation  and 
companionship  this  voice  borne  in  from 
the  unborn  times  and  the  unborn  men. 
There  was  a  singleness  of  aim  in  him, 
matched  with  a  sustained  devotion,  which 
gathered  all  the  forces  of  his  nature  in 
one  continuous  and  absorbing  task. 
Shut  off  from  complicated  relations  with 
his  time,  excluded  from  the  privileges 
299 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

and  cares  of  citizenship,  practically  with- 
out family  ties,  he  poured  the  undivided 
stream  of  his  power  and  activity  into  a 
single  channeL  It  was  not  his  mind 
alone  which  was  engaged  in  his  work ; 
it  was  not  heart  alone ;  it  was  not  his 
technical  skill  and  the  energy  of  his 
nature:  in  the  blending  of  all  these 
qualities  is  found  the  secret  of  that  in- 
tensity which  gives  the  "  Divine  Com- 
edy" unity  of  feeling  through  all  its 
vast  movement.  Ballads  and  lyrics 
often  breathe  a  single  fiery  emotion ; 
but  there  is  no  other  poem  of  equal 
magnitude  which  glows  with  such  sus- 
tained heat  of  soul. 

A  work  of  art  is  great  in  the  exact 
measure  in  which  it  absorbs  and  receives 
the  life  of  the  artist,  —  in  the  measure 
in  which  it  springs,  as  Goethe  would 
say,  from  the  union  of  all  his  faculties. 
It  may  be  strong,  original,  suggestive, 
if  it  come  primarily  from  his  mind ;  it 
may  be  moving,  inspiring,  impressive,  if 
it  flow  from  his  heart  alone ;  it  may  be 
300 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

clear,  effective,  beautiful,  if  it  be  the 
product  of  his  skill  or  training  ;  but  it 
is  great,  deep,  and  enduring  in  the  meas- 
ure in  which  all  these  faculties  and 
forces  contribute  to  and  are  mingled  in 
it.  It  is  this  fusion  of  his  whole  nature 
which  gives  Dante's  work  not  only- 
unity,  but  such  range  and  variety.  He 
had  the  equipment  of  a  thinker  of  the 
first  order;  and  if  his  mind  had  been 
primarily  engaged  in  his  work,  he  would 
have  added  another  to  the  massive  folios 
and  quartos  of  the  schoolman  ;  there  is 
a  whole  system  of  philosophy  in  the 
"  Divine  Comedy."  He  had  the  quick 
imagination,  the  glowing  feeling,  of  the 
lyrical  poet ;  if  his  heart  had  been  pri- 
marily engaged  in  his  work,  we  should 
have  had  another  poet  of  pure  song ; 
that  vision  of  the  fated  lovers  floating 
over  the  blackness  of  Hell  remains  the 
matchless  revelation  of  a  heart  that  knew 
all  the  tenderness  and  bitterness  of  love. 
He  had  the  constructive  genius,  the  ripe 
culture,  the  technical  training,  which 
301 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation   ' 

make  an  artist  by  instinct  and  necessity  ; 
if  his  skill  had  been  the  chief  quality  in 
his  work,  we  should  have  had  more  art 
for  art's  sake.  We  have  the  "  Divine 
Comedy "  because  none  of  these  sepa- 
rate faculties  took  the  lead:  they  flowed 
together  ;  the  whole  man  was  involved 
and  expressed  in  the  work. 

In  the  very  nature  of  Dante's  under- 
taking lay  an  all  but  insurmountable 
task  ;  it  was  so  large  in  scheme,  it  in- 
volved so  much  knowledge,  it  demanded 
such  elaboration,  such  proportion,  such 
adjustment.  The  Homeric  poems  had 
the  great  aid  of  successive  episodes  and 
incidents,  even  when  continuous  narra- 
tive failed  them  ;  the  Greek  tragedies  had 
in  each  case  a  living  germ  of  myth  or 
history  ;  the  "  Epic  of  Kings,"  the  "  Ka- 
levala,"  the  "  Nibelungen  Lied,"  ran 
close  to  legend  or  tradition.  Shake- 
speare's power  shows  no  sign  of  limita- 
tion ;  but  the  plays,  while  they  bring  the 
whole  movement  of  life  within  the  vis- 
ion of  the  imagination,  are  for  a  narrow 
302 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

stage  and  for  a  brief  three  hours.  There 
were  pauses  of  rest  between  the  writing 
of  them :  the  theme  changed  ;  the  mind 
addressed  itself  to  new  problems  ;  there 
was  vast  variation  of  material  and  of 
treatment,  —  as,  for  instance,  between 
"  Lear  "  and  "  Antony  and  Cleopatra." 
But  Dante  had  no  such  aids  from  legend 
or  history,  from  myth  or  story,  from 
change  and  variety  of  work.  No  man 
ever  owed  more  to  history  than  he;  but 
history  did  not  aid  him  with  narrative 
ease  and  flow :  his  theme  shifted  the 
stage  of  its  unfolding ;  but  it  is,  after  all, 
the  same  theme  in  Hell,  in  Purgatory, 
and  in  Paradise.  All  things  considered, 
the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  is  the  most  tre- 
mendous task  ever  undertaken  by  a  poet, 
—  a  task  demanding  not  greater  genius, 
perhaps,  than  some  other  tasks,  but 
greater  fixity  of  attention,  more  pro- 
longed and  continuous  absorption,  more 
stern  and  resolute  severance  from  affairs. 
Dante's  success  was  conditioned  upon 
long  detachment,  upon  unbroken  ab- 
303    . 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

sorption,  upon  the  concentration  and 
fusion  of  his  whole  nature.  His  success 
has,  therefore,  a  moral  and  intellectual 
significance  practically  unique  in  litera- 
ture. He  illustrates  in  himself  the  laws 
of  success  as  impressively  and  as  au- 
thoritatively as  his  work  discloses  the 
standards  and  aims  of  art.  To  possess 
Dante's  genius  is  not  enough  ;  one  must 
possess  also  Dante's  power  of  sacrifice 
and  fervour  of  consecration.  To  write 
the  "  Divine  Comedy,"  one  must  not 
only  live  for  art,  but,  in  a  very  true  sense, 
die  for  it.  A  large  part  of  the  poet's 
happiness  and  all  his  ease  and  comfort, 
the  things  that  in  a  way  console  the 
body  for  the  sorrows  of  the  spirit,  — 
were  lost  in  the  doing  of  that  sublime 
work.  There  were  great  inspirations, 
and  consolations  by  the  way  ;  but  let  no 
man  count  the  sacrifice  less  because  the 
work  to  which  it  contributed  is  so  noble. 
To  underestimate  the  suffering  of  the 
heart  is  to  lessen  the  significance  of  the 
achievement  and  rob  it  of  its  supreme 
304 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

dignity.  The  law  which  wrought  such 
havoc  with  Dante's  personal  happiness 
has  constant  illustration  in  every  field  of 
endeavour ;  but  men  are  slow  to  learn 
and  quick  to  forget  it.  It  is  part  of  the 
open  secret  which  so  many  fail  to  read, 
though  it  lies  written  over  all  tasks  and 
careers.  Whosoever  would  find  his  life 
must  lose  it,  whosoever  would  keep 
must  spend,  whosoever  would  achieve 
must  fail ;  sublime  paradox  of  the  human 
life  in  which  the  divine  is  always  min- 
gling and  striving  for  the  mastery  ! 

Dante  may  well  stand  as  the  typical 
artist  in  the  completeness  of  his  surren- 
der to  his  art ;  he  poured  out  his  life  as 
a  libation  to  the  Muse  of  poetry,  —  that 
beautiful  mistress  of  the  imagination, 
radiant  with  imperishable  charms,  pos- 
sessed of  such  glorious  rewards,  and  yet 
so  inexorable  in  her  demand  for  devo- 
tion !  The  men  who  have  risen  to  the 
height  of  this  consecration  have,  through 
this  very  surrender,  made  themselves 
masters  of  life  and  its  arts  of  expression, 

20  305 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

^schylus  sustained  this  test,  and  the 
older  Greece  lives  in  his  work  ;  Shake- 
speare was  equal  to  this  demand,  and 
left  us  what  have  well  been  called  the 
most  authentic  documents  of  human 
history ;  Goethe,  in  his  way,  rose  to 
this  exalted  plane  of  sustained  endeav- 
our, and  the  modern  world  was  fore- 
shadowed in  his  prose  and  verse.  Byron, 
on  the  other  hand,  with  his  unsurpassed 
gift  of  lyric  expression,  failed  of  this 
supreme  surrender,  and  failed  also  of 
the  complete  expression  of  his  genius. 
Of  how  many  richly  endowed  poets 
must  the  same  record  be  made !  They 
possessed  all  the  materials  for  work  of 
the  highest  quality,  of  the  greatest  mag- 
nitude ;  they  wrought  at  times  with  a 
fidelity  that  made  the  occasional  mo- 
ments what  the  years  ought  to  have 
been :  but  lacking  the  power  of  sus- 
tained endeavour  born  of  the  union  of 
spiritual  integrity  with  intellectual  force, 
they  missed  that  putting  forth  of  the 
whole  nature  in  unbroken  continuity 
306 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

which  is  the  inexorable  law  of  supreme 
achievement.  In  art,  which  in  its  deep- 
est aspects  is  but  another  name  for  reli- 
gion, a  man  cannot  serve  two  masters. 
He  who  sets  himself  to  the  task  of  in- 
terpreting life  on  any  great  scale  must 
put  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  Devil 
behind  him  as  resolutely  as  ever  ancho- 
rite shut  the  door  of  his  cell  in  the  face 
of  these  tempters  from  the  perfect  way. 
It  Is  idle  to  talk  of  a  disseverance  be- 
tween great  art  and  fundamental  morals : 
they  are  not  bound  together  by  external 
law ;  they  are  as  soil  and  fruit,  as  sun 
and  light,  as  truth  and  beauty.  A 
sound  nature,  a  mind  moving  inevita- 
bly to  appointed  ends,  a  whole  man,  — 
these  are  the  only  sources  of  the  work 
which  sustains  comparison  with  the 
soundness  and  inevitableness  of  Nature. 
The  swallow-flights  of  song,  touching 
things  near  and  familiar,  have  their 
truth  and  their  sweetness  ;  but  it  is  the 
enduring  strength  of  the  eagle's  wing 
that  holds  a  steady  way  between  the 
307 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

light  and  the  world  which  it  searches 
and  reveals.  Durante  Alighieri,  the 
poet's  baptismal  name,  —  the  "  endur- 
ing one,"  and  the  "  wing-bearer,"  —  re- 
veals the  secret  of  this  masterful  soul. 

Probably  no  poem  was  ever  more 
thoroughly  thought  out,  so  far  as  its 
general  plan,  the  relation  of  its  parts, 
and  the  blending  of  its  different  but  har- 
monious ends  were  concerned,  than  the 
"  Divine  Comedy."  In  large  design 
and  in  minute  detail,  it  is  characterised 
by  marvellous  definiteness.  Every  out- 
line is  distinct,  every  personage  unerr- 
ingly described ;  the  adjectives  seem 
often  welded  to  the  substantives  ;  noth- 
ing is  left  unfinished.  From  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end  of  his  journey,  Dante 
seems  to  have  known  where  the  next 
step  would  take  him ;  and  yet,  in  spite 
of  this  extraordinary  grasp  and  clearness 
of  intention,  the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  owes 
more  to  the  unconscious  than  to  the  con- 
scious Dante,  —  more  to  the  poet's  nature 
than  to  his  mind.  The  poem  has  been 
308 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

spoken  of  as  a  task ;  and  when  one 
studies  it  from  the  analytical  standpoint, 
the  writing  of  it  is  seen  to  have  been  one 
of  the  greatest  tasks  ever  undertaken. 
There  is  another  point  of  view,  how- 
ever, from  which  this  massive  work  loses 
the  elements  of  a  task,  and  takes  on  the 
aspects  of  play.  There  are  in  it  the 
ease,  the  freedom,  the  fulness,  of  a  great 
nature  dealing  with  life  as  a  master,  not 
as  a  servant,  and  creating  not  arduously, 
but  from  an  inward  pressure.  The 
"  Divine  Comedy  "  was  not  made ;  it 
grew.  There  was  a  vital  process  behind 
it.  There  were  all  the  stages  of  growth 
in  its  production  from  the  moment  when 
the  seed  began  to  germinate  in  the  soil 
to  that  hour  —  the  purest,  divinest  that 
art  has  ever  known  —  when  it  bore  the 
white  rose  in  Paradise.  It  was  not  the 
tremendous  effort  of  a  mind  strained  to 
the  last  point  of  endurance  ;  it  was  the 
overflow  of  a  nature  through  which  the 
tidal  influences  and  forces  of  life  flowed 
deep  and  strong.  To  borrow  Ruskin's 
309 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

thought,  it  is  not  a  great  effort,  but  a 
great  force,  which  we  feel  in  the  "  Divine 
Comedy."  A  thing  of  skill,  contrivance, 
mechanism,  is  detached  from  its  maker 
and  its  surroundings  ;  a  thing  of  life  is 
rooted  in  the  soil  where  it  grows.  Be- 
hind every  flower  there  are  the  earth  and 
the  heavens,  and  the  most  secluded 
violet  involves  them  both ;  it  could  not 
have  been  without  their  combined  min- 
istry to  its  fragile  life.  Behind  West- 
minster Abbey  there  were  not  only  stone 
quarries  and  tools,  there  were  religion, 
art,  history,  fathomless  depths  of  faith 
and  service.  Behind  the  "  Divine  Com- 
edy "  there  is  more  than  Dante  was 
conscious  of,  clear  as  his  intention  was 
and  definite  as  was  his  plan.  It  was  a 
beautiful  fancy  of  the  Greeks  that  the 
gods  were  sometimes  surprised  in  their 
solitude,  —  Diana  at  her  bath,  and  Pan 
on  the  road  to  Sparta ;  but  it  was  only 
a  fancy.  The  imagination  —  that  larger 
and  deeper  insight —  knows  that  divinity 
cannot  be  seen  by  eyes  that  depend  for 
310 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

their  seeing  upon  a  waxing  and  waning 
light ;  it  is  the  inward  and  constant  light 
that  shines  upon  God,  and  we  see  him 
and  still  live.  Not  only  are  we  hidden 
from  each  other,  but  we  are  hidden  from 
ourselves ;  that  is  our  sacredness.  We 
are  fed  by  unseen  springs  through  invis- 
ible channels.  We  are  as  conscious  at 
times  of  the  advance  and  recession  of  tides 
of  power  as  we  are  of  the  incoming  and 
outgoing  of  the  ocean  currents.  There 
are  depths  in  us  which  we  cannot  sound ; 
race  instincts  which  ally  us  with  the  re- 
motest past ;  ancient  associations  with 
forest  and  sea  which  survive  the  memory 
of  their  origin ;  affinities  with  Nature 
which  keep  us  in  touch  with  a  world  of 
force  and  beauty  which  we  never  fully 
comprehend,  but  with  which  we  have  a 
mysterious  intimacy.  All  history  seems 
to  echo  and  reverberate  within  us ;  its 
oldest  stories  are  strangely  familiar. 
More  wonderful  even  than  this  complex- 
ity and  vitality  of  natural  and  human 
association  and  influence  are  the  contacts 
3"  . 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

between  our  souls  and  the  Soul  of  the 
universe. 

Now,  the  greater  a  nature,  the  wider 
its  sweep  of  these  unrecorded  experi- 
ences, the  deeper  its  rootage  in  this  mys- 
terious soil  of  history,  race,  nature, 
divinity.  When  such  a  nature  produces 
in  the  field  of  art,  that  which  grows  out 
of  it  will  gather  up  and  reproduce  a 
vitality  far  greater  and  more  significant 
than  the  artist  standing  alone  could  con- 
tribute to  it.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  a 
few  men  are  recognised  as  speaking  for 
their  races ;  a  whole  section  of  life,  a  long 
movement  of  history,  seem  to  bear  in 
them  the  flower  of  expression.  These 
men  produce  out  of  their  unconscious- 
ness far  more  than  out  of  their  conscious- 
ness ;  they  see  clearly  enough  the  point 
to  which  they  would  go  ;  but  while  we 
journey  with  them  the  earth  and  the 
heavens  are  unrolled  before  us ;  the  road 
along  which  we  pass  is  but  a  faintly 
marked  line  across  unexplored  conti- 
nents. Dante  has  very  definite  things 
312 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

to  say ;  but  his  deepest  message  is  to  the 
imagination,  and  is  therefore  unspoken. 
His  song  is  "unfathomable,"  as  Tieck 
long  ago  called  it,  because  all  life  flows 
under  it.  Here,  again,  we  come  upon 
his  prophetic  quality,  —  his  foreshadow- 
ing of  the  attitude  and  method  of  the 
true  artist  in  all  times.  That  which  the 
artist  gives  us  is  himself.  His  genius  is 
not  his  :  it  belongs  to  the  world,  because 
the  world  has  contributed  the  material 
with  which  it  deals.  No  man  ever 
owed  more  to  his  fellows  than  Dante. 
Shakespeare  borrowed  stories  from  all 
quarters ;  Dante  borrowed  all  history. 
The  "  Divine  Comedy  "  is  embedded  in 
history  ;  its  background  is  the  entire 
historic  movement.  It  was  Dante's 
greatness  that  his  life  had  such  reach  and 
force,  —  that  it  gathered  into  itself  so 
vast  a  range  of  experience,  and  brought 
to  light  so  wide  a  sweep  of  action. 
These  facts  of  history  had  long  sunk 
below  the  region  of  consciousness  in  him ; 
he  had  absorbed  the  past  and  made  it 
313 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

part  of  himself  before  he  expressed  the 
soul  of  it  in  poetry.  The  Middle  Ages 
had,  for  the  purposes  of  art,  this  price- 
less quality  of  unconsciousness.  Mor- 
bid as  mediaeval  thought  often  was, 
distorted  as  its  imagination  was,  gro- 
tesque as  its  mistakes  of  fact  often  were, 
it  had  a  naivete  and  unconsciousness 
which  we  sadly  and  fatally  lack.  The 
mediaeval  spirit  thought  much,  but  it 
thought  passionately,  with  a  certain  fer- 
vour and  intensity;  it  thought  largely  by 
the  aid  of  the  imagination.  It  felt  more 
than  it  thought;  and  in  art  feeling  is  the 
essential  quality.  Thought  without  feel- 
ing gives  us  philosophy  or  science ; 
thought  with  feeling  gives  us  literature. 
The  mediaeval  spirit  felt  deeply  and  in- 
stinctively, and  so,  without  consciousness 
of  the  process,  it  produced  a  vast  growth 
of  popular  epics,  songs,  and  stories ;  and 
its  reverence  and  piety,  felt  to  the  very 
depths  of  its  nature,  were  set  in  pillar  and 
arch,  in  window  and  fretted  roof,  in  the 
imperishable  beauty  of  the  cathedral, 
314 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

Dante  was  the  first  great  literary  nature 
touched  by  these  hidden  streams  of  faith 
and  beauty.  He  not  only  shared  in 
them,  but  by  so  much  as  he  was  greater 
than  his  contemporaries  he  was  fed  by 
them.  He  was  one  of  the  deepest  and 
clearest  of  the  mediaeval  thinkers;  but 
he  felt  more  profoundly  than  he  thought. 
Thought,  knowledge,  fact,  were  never 
cold  to  him  ;  they  seemed  to  burn  their 
way  into  his  mind  ;  they  sank  through  his 
mind  into  his  heart.  It  was  one  of  the 
superstitions  of  the  time  that  cities  were 
sometimes  sunk  by  magicians  into  the 
depths  of  pools  ;  and  the  peasant  passing 
by  at  dusk  peered  trembling  and  awe- 
struck into  the  still  waters,  and  saw  there 
the  lost  town  swallowed  up  in  death  and 
silence,  —  the  streets  empty  that  had 
once  been  thronged ;  the  bells  silent  that 
had  once  swung  with  resonant  melody  ; 
the  houses  deserted  that  had  once  had 
cheer  and  mirth  of  life.  So  in  Dante 
that  old  world  survives,  and  we  read  it  to 
the  very  heart.  It  is  not  until  thought, 
3^5 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

knowledge,  and  fact  pass  beyond  the 
mind  into  the  keeping  of  the  heart, 
where  feeling  plays  upon  them  and 
divines  their  spiritual  meanings,  that  art 
finds  them  ripe  for  use.  The  first  per- 
ception of  unsuspected  beauty  in  things 
is  always  accompanied  by  agitation. 
The  very  essence  of  literature  is  this 
sensitiveness  of  perception,  this  freshness 
of  feehng,  which  clothes  familiar  facts 
and  obvious  truths  with  a  loveliness  or 
majesty  undreamed  of  by  the  thought 
alone.  It  is  through  the  insight  and 
play  of  the  imagination  that  the  historic 
fact  yields  its  inner  and  spiritual  mean- 
ing ;  and  there  must  be  a  brooding  of 
the  whole  nature  over  the  fact  before  it 
ripens  into  art.  While  questions  are 
still  pressing  for  answer,  while  move- 
ments still  absorb  the  faculties  in  action, 
while  problems  still  agitate  and  disturb, 
they  rarely  receive  literary  expression. 
When  the  struggle  is  over  and  the  move- 
ment accomplished,  the  Muse  of  Poetry 
comes  to  claim  her  own.  The  agony 
Zi6 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

of  strife  yields  to  the  quiet  meditation, 
the  mysterious  distillation  of  truth,  the 
deep  and  sweet  disclosure  of  beauty. 
Far  below  the  region  of  eager  and  pain- 
ful thinking,  with  its  unrest  and  its  agita- 
tion, the  question,  the  problem,  the  great 
issues,  sink  into  the  rich,  profound,  un- 
conscious life  of  a  people  or  a  man. 
They  become  a  kind  of  background,  full 
of  majesty,  of  mystery,  of  suggestion  and 
allurement  for  the  imagination,  —  like 
those  mountain-ranges  which  guarded 
the  youth  of  Titian,  and  in  the  long 
years  of  his  maturity  appeared  and  reap- 
peared in  his  works.  For  this  reason 
childhood  is  so  often  and  so  incompar- 
ably touched  by  the  great  writers.  It 
lies  behind  them,  a  real  landscape,  but 
with  what  softness  of  outline,  what  mys- 
teries of  light  and  atmosphere  ! 

Dante  came  when  this  light  lay  soft 
on  the  "  ten  silent  centuries,"  —  when 
their  tasks  were  done  and  their  service 
complete ;  when  the  problems  that  had 
tormented  faithful  and  morbid  souls 
317 


c   Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

alike  were  settled ;  when  the  new  era 
was  at  hand,  and  the  new  world  was 
rising  out  of  the  old.  Deep  in  the 
heart  and  memory  of  that  old  world 
lay  the  records  and  experiences  of  its 
youth  and  its  prime  ;  deep  in  Dante's 
heart  they  waited  for  the  discernment 
of  his  deep  intelligence,  for  the  expres- 
sion of  his  unsurpassed  faculty  of  song. 
He  carried  that  old  world  in  his  heart 
through  all  his  wanderings  ;  he  brooded 
over  it  until  its  faith,  its  art,  its  history, 
were  fused,  harmonised,  and  completely 
possessed.  When  the  "  Divine  Com- 
edy "  grew  under  his  hands,  this  ripe 
and  rich  past,  this  vast  and  fathomless 
life,  to  which  races  and  centuries  had 
contributed,  rose  into  consciousness 
once  more,  —  rose  in  organic  unity 
and  completeness,  with  such  disclo- 
sure of  far-reaching  spiritual  relations, 
of  immortal  significance  to  the  soul  of 
man,  as  only  a  poet  who  was  also  a 
prophet  could  give  it.  It  was  no 
longer  an  abstract  faith,  an  arbitrary 
318 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

knowledge,  a  mass  of  unrelated  facts ; 
it  was  the  allegory  of  the  soul's  pil- 
grimage, the  revelation  of  the  soul's 
life. 

There  is  but  one  "  Divine  Comedy," 
—  one  poem  in  which  depth  and  height 
of  thought,  beauty  of  form,  and  inten- 
sity of  feeling  are  so  perfectly  combined. 
There  are  only  three  or  four  works  in 
all  literature  which  we  place  beside  this 
poem.  It  has  less  breadth,  less  range 
of  sunny  fruitfulness,  than  the  work  of 
Shakespeare  and  of  Goethe  ;  but  it  is 
the  highest  altitude  of  human  achieve- 
ment. It  is  one  of  the  great  satisfac- 
tions of  humanity,  because  it  realises  the 
noblest  anticipations  of  life.  Here  was 
a  man  who  lived  in  the  heart  of  things, 
who  thought  and  acted  as  if  he  were 
conscious  of  immortality;  who  could 
afford  to  let  one  phase  of  life  torment 
and  disown  him,  because  he  had  all 
life  for  compensation ;  who  lived  and 
wrought  like  a  master,  born  to  the 
highest  intellectual  and  spiritual  pos- 
319 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

sessions,  and  not  to  be  despoiled  of 
them  by  any  chance  of  earthly  fortune. 
All  men  crave  such  living  and  perform- 
ance as  Dante's,  because  they  adequately 
express  the  energy  of  an  immortal  spirit. 
Scepticism,  cynicism,  pessimism,  have 
their  periods ;  the  race  has  its  bad 
quarter  of  an  hour  now  and  then  ;  but 
such  men  as  Dante  make  these  ignoble 
suspicions  of  divinity,  these  mean  doubts 
about  our  fellows,  these  weak  denials  of 
our  own  natures,  incredible.  One  right- 
eous man  demonstrates  the  reality  of 
goodness,  and  one  great  man  makes  all 
life  great.  Scepticism  is  the  root  of  all 
evil  in  us  and  in  our  arts.  We  do  not 
believe  enough  in  God,  in  ourselves, 
and  in  the  divine  laws  under  which 
we  live.  Great  art  involves  great  faith, 
—  a  clear,  resolute,  victorious  insight 
into  and  grasp  of  things ;  a  belief  real 
enough  and  powerful  enough  to  inspire 
and  sustain  heroic  tasks.  The  open 
secret  of  a  great  and  noble  achievement 
in  art  is  a  sound  and  noble  nature  in  the 
320 


Some  Modern  Readings  from  Dante 

artist.  Dante  was  great  in  himself, — 
not  faultless,  not  entirely  harmonious, 
but  great  in  faith,  in  force,  and  in  en- 
deavour. He  met  life  as  a  strong 
swimmer  meets  the  sea,  not  with  dis- 
may and  outcries,  but  with  heroic  put- 
ting forth  of  effort,  with  calmness  and 
steadiness  of  soul,  with  the  buoyancy  of 
a  great  strength  matching  itself  against 
a  great  peril.  He  believed  and  he 
achieved,  —  that  is  the  true  story  of 
his  life. 


31 


321 


Chapter  VIII 

A  Word  about  Humour 

THE  difficulties  which  beset  the  en- 
deavour to  define  vital  qualities 
are  very  evident  in  the  results  of  the 
attempts,  dating  back  to  the  time  of 
Aristotle,  to  draw  sharp  lines  of  distinc- 
tion between  wit  and  humour.  Literature 
does  not  offer  the  record  of  a  more  de- 
lightful will-o'-the-wisp  pursuit.  These 
pervasive  elements  are  present  in  every 
literature ;  but  they  have  a  Protean  va- 
riability of  form,  and  they  sport  with 
severe  and  logical  thinkers  with  an  easy 
indifference  to  formulas  and  categories. 
This  very  elusiveness  is  not  only  a  very 
great  charm,  but  furnishes  evidence  of 
the  important  part  which  wit  and  hu- 
mour play  in  human  affairs.  They  are 
omnipresent :  they  register  the  overflow 
of  the  soul  in  art,  religion,  and  history  ; 
322 


A  Word  about  Humour 

merriment  and  sorrow,  friendship  and 
animosity,  purity  and  evil,  have  found 
common  use  in  them.  No  qualities  are 
better  known,  or  more  readily  recognis- 
able ;  but  they  are  still  at  large.  They 
will  never  be  caught  in  any  snare  of 
definition,  however  skilfully  set.  We 
shall  delight  in  their  manifestations,  use 
them  as  part  of  our  common  speech, 
value  them  among  the  greater  resources 
of  Hfe ;  but  we  shall  never  define  them 
as  we  define  a  thing  fixed  and  stationary, 
or  a  relation  the  contacts  of  which  are 
seen  on  all  sides.  Wit  is  too  Protean, 
humour  too  elemental,  for  complete 
definition.  This  is  not  saying  that 
deep  glimpses  into  the  nature  of  these 
qualities  are  lacking,  or  that  acute  and 
luminous  comments  on  the  differences 
between  them  have  not  been  made. 
English  literature,  which  is  notably  rich 
in  both  wit  and  humour,  is  also  rich 
in  illustration  and  characterisation  of 
these  qualities.  Hazlitt,  Leigh  Hunt, 
and  Thackeray  have  approved  them- 
323 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

selves  as  commentators  whose  joy  was 
in  the  text  rather  than  in  the  comment ; 
while  of  the  large  company  of  English 
and  American  essayists  and  critics  there 
are  few  who  have  not  made  some  con- 
tribution to  a  clearer  understanding  of 
these  fugitive  things. 

Exact  definition  is  not,  however,  the 
prerequisite  of  deep  thinking,  or  of  a 
really  profound  comprehension  either  of 
the  things  of  the  spirit  or  of  the  mind ; 
if  it  were,  we  should  be  cut  off  from 
dealing  intelligently  with  the  things 
which  are  nearest  and  most  essential  to 
us.  The  deepest  things  in  our  lives  are 
best  known  and  least  definable.  As  soon 
as  we  touch  them,  we  slip  out  of  logic 
into  poetry. 

Wit,  being  distinctively  an  intellectual 
quality,  presents  sharper  outlines  than 
humour ;  but  the  two  qualities  so  often 
appear  together  that,  at  the  first  glance, 
they  seem  to  be  interchangeable.  They 
have,  indeed,  this  characteristic  in  com- 
mon :  they  arise  out  of  the  perception 
324 


A  Word  about  Humour 

of  some  kind  of  incongruity,  some  form 
of  contrast.  Wit  is  lighter,  drier,  more 
distinctly  localised,  more  purely  intellec- 
tual, than  humour  ;  and  humour  is  more 
elemental,  more  pervasive,  more  a  mat- 
ter of  character  and  temperament.  Wit 
is  allied  to  talent  in  its  cleverness,  dex- 
terity, and  a  certain  hard  and  brilliant 
quality  of  skill ;  while  humour  partakes 
of  the  wider  reach,  the  ampler  flow,  the 
deep  unconsciousness  of  genius.  Wit 
is  the  swift  play,  the  flashing  thrust  and 
parry,  of  the  mind.  Humour  flows 
from  character;  its  springs  are  in  a 
man's  nature ;  it  is  the  expression,  not 
of  that  which  is  rapid,  dexterous,  and 
self-conscious,  but  of  that  which  is  fun- 
damental and  unconscious  in  him.  Wit 
is  a  thing  apart  from  character ;  humour 
is  the  most  unforced  expression  of  char- 
acter. The  old  physicians  were  not  far 
wrong  in  making  humour  one  of  the 
four  elements  out  of  which  the  physical 
body  is  compounded,  and  therefore  part 
of  the  very  substance  of  a  man.  This 
325 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

original  use  of  the  word  is  the  most 
suggestive  comment  on  its  meaning ;  we 
shall  not  go  astray  if  we  follow  its  lead. 
It  was  one  of  those  instinctive  guesses 
which  fuller  knowledge  has  verified  in 
quite  unexpected  fashion.  Wit  plays  on 
the  surface  of  things  ;  humour  streams 
down  into  the  heart  of  them,  irradiates 
them,  and,  without  intention,  gets  at 
their  secret.  Wit  is  colourless,  emo- 
tionless ;  it  is  as  dry,  as  detached  from 
the  things  it  touches,  as  an  abstract 
quality.  Humour,  being  the  expression 
of  the  whole  nature,  is  full  of  heart ;  it 
has  tenderness,  sympathy,  piety,  sad- 
ness ;  the  laughter  which  it  evokes  is 
without  malice  or  bitterness ;  it  is  often 
so  near  to  tears  that  the  two  blend  as 
naturally  as  the  moods  of  an  April  sky. 
The  deepest  humour  is  never  cynical 
or  destructive  ;  it  never  wounds.  The 
wit  of  Voltaire  is  often  but  the  mask  of 
a  sneer,  and  the  wit  of  Heine  cuts  like 
the  surgeon's  blade  ;  but  the  humour  of 
Cervantes  is  full  of  reverence  and  cour- 
326 


'  A  Word  about  Humour 

tesy,  and  the  humour  of  Shakespeare  of 
human  tenderness  and  sadness. 

Dr.  Bushnell  brings  out  the  funda- 
mental quality  of  each  when  he  says : 
"  One  is  the  dry  labour  of  intention  or 
design,  ambition  eager  to  provoke  ap- 
plause, malignity  biting  at  an  adversary, 
envy  letting  down  the  good  or  the  ex- 
alted. The  other,  humour,  is  the  soul 
reeking  with  its  own  moisture,  laughing 
because  it  is  full  of  laughter,  —  as  ready 
to  weep  as  to  laugh ;  for  the  copious 
shower  it  holds  is  good  for  either.  And 
then,  when  it  has  set  the  tree  a-dripping. 

And  hung  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear, 

the  pure  sun  shining  after  will  reveal  no 
colour  of  intention  in  the  sparkling  drop, 
but  will  leave  you  doubting  still  whether 
it  be  a  drop  let  fall  by  laughter  or  a 
tear."  Spontaneity  and  health  of  soul 
are  the  characteristics  of  humour.  Wit 
may  be  spontaneous ;  humour  must 
be.  Wit  may  be  sound  and  sweet; 
humour  must  be.  Wit  may  let  us  into 
327 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

the  secret  of  character;    humour   must 
reveal  it. 

The  great  wits  form  a  sharply-defined 
group  of  versatile  and  gifted  persons,  not 
so  often  read  as  quoted ;  for  by  its  very 
nature  wit  is  a  portable  rather  than  a 
diffusive  quality.  It  reveals  itself  in  sud- 
den flashes,  not  in  a  continuous  glow  and 
illumination.  It  is  distilled  in  sentences; 
it  is  preserved  in  figures,  illustrations, 
epigrams,  epithets,  phrases.  In  these 
days  one  reads  Voltaire  and  Sydney 
Smith  for  "points,"  not  for  broad  com- 
pleteness or  for  large  and  luminous  dis- 
closure of  the  nature  of  the  themes  with 
which  they  deal.  The  elder  Dumas  has 
stamped  his  superscription  on  a  few  pieces 
of  the  pure  gold  of  wit,  which  furnish  a 
standard  coinage  among  the  most  critical 
and  fastidious.  Heine's  rare  poetic  in- 
sight and  unique  quality  are  too  often 
undervalued  in  comparison  with  that 
arrowy  wit,  —  never  barbed  with  bitter- 
ness, and  yet  always  left  stinging  in  the 
victim  as  if  dipped  in  the  very  essence 
328 


A  Word  about  Humour 

of  malice.  Wit  seems,  upon  analysis, 
a  conversational  quality,  called  out  by 
social  relations  and  influences,  and  ex- 
pressed briefly  and  compactly,  with  the 
incisiveness  of  epigram  and  repartee.  It 
is  the  sharpest  of  comments ;  it  often 
brings  a  ray  of  most  intense  light  to  bear 
on  a  defect,  an  exaggeration,  a  falsehood : 
but  it  does  not  deal  with  subjects  broadly 
and  comprehensively ;  it  does  not  illu- 
minate wide  fields  of  thought  and  life  ;  it 
has  no  creative  quality ;  there  is  nothing 
elemental  in  it.  It  is  like  the  flash  of 
lightning  during  the  brief  duration  of 
which  a  bit  of  landscape  stands  out  in 
startling  distinctness ;  it  has  none  of  the 
wide,  fruitful,  revealing  quality  of  the 
sunlight. 

The  great  humourists  present  a  signifi- 
cant contrast  to  the  great  wits  ;  for  while 
the  wits  entertain  and  dazzle  us,  the  hu- 
mourists reveal  life  to  us.  Aristopha- 
nes, Cervantes,  Moliere,  and  Shakespeare, 
the  typical  humourists,  are  among  the 
greatest  contributors  to  the  capital  of 
329 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

human  achievement.  They  give  us,  not 
glimpses,  but  views  of  life,  —  not  de- 
tached comments,  but  comprehensive 
interpretations.  They  are  pre-eminently 
creative;  and  the  ease  and  breadth  of 
their  work  hint  at  the  elemental  quality 
of  humour.  A  humourist  of  the  first 
order  has  always  great  range,  and  moves 
freely  through  an  almost  limitless  world 
of  thought  and  fancy.  In  his  most  de- 
structive moods,  Aristophanes  gives  forth 
such  an  impression  of  force  and  compass 
that  in  the  very  process  of  decomposing 
one  world,  he  seems  to  be  constructing 
another.  Lucian  has  far  less  fertility 
and  resource  of  imagination,  less  buoy- 
ancy and  splendour  of  poetic  fancy ;  but 
he  also  moves  at  ease  in  a  world  ampler 
than  that  of  his  contemporaries,  —  a 
world  which  his  humour,  even  when  de- 
structive of  the  old  faith,  broadens  rather 
than  destroys.  Rabelais,  in  the  broadest 
spirit  of  license,  makes  an  honest  fight 
for  more  reality  and  less  sham,  —  for 
a  wider  and  freer  world.  Cervantes, 
330 


A  Word  about  Humour 

Moliere,  and  Heine,  with  very  different 
gifts,  and  from  very  different  points  of 
view,  share  this  quality  of  overflowing 
abundance  and  vitality.  There  is  no 
consciousness  of  strain  in  them, —  no 
evident  effort  to  conform  to  certain  stand- 
ards and  to  meet  certain  tests.  On  the 
contrary,  they  move  in  an  atmosphere 
of  free  and  independent  expression ;  they 
are  continually  breaking  through  the 
imaginary  conventional  limits  of  their 
time,  and  breaking  into  a  larger  world. 
The  arid  and  ludicrous  formalism  of  the 
chivalric  habit  after  the  spirit  of  chivalry 
has  fled;  typical  hypocrisies  and  specious 
self-deceit ;  the  stupidity  and  dense  self- 
satisfaction  of  Philistinism,  —  all  these 
various  forms  of  narrowness  and  false- 
hood are  limitations  of  human  growth 
and  free  activity ;  and  against  these  limi- 
tations the  humourists  break  their  lances. 
Heine  justly  claimed  for  himself  the  po- 
sition of  a  liberator  of  humanity ;  for  all 
the  great  humourists  are  liberators. 
It  is  true  that  Aristophanes,  Lucian^ 
331 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

and  Heine  are  often  distinctly  destruc- 
tive in  mood,  and  seem  to  have  no  other 
purpose  but  to  make  current  beliefs  in- 
credible. Heine,  the  most  volatile  and 
tricksy  spirit  in  literature,  slips  into  blas- 
phemy with  magical  ease,  and  is  never 
so  far  from  seriousness  of  spirit  as  when 
he  puts  himself  most  completely  under 
the  spell  of  sentiment.  "  Other  bards," 
says  a  writer  in  a  recent  issue  of  the 
"  Athenaeum,"  "  have  passed  from  grave 
to  gay  within  the  compass  of  one  work  ; 
but  the  art  of  constantly  showing  two 
natures  within  the  small  limit  of  perhaps 
three  ballad  verses  was  reserved  for 
Heine.  No  one  like  him  understands 
how  to  build  up  a  little  edifice  of  the 
tenderest  and  most  refined  sentiment  for 
the  mere  pleasure  of  knocking  it  down 
with  a  last  line.  No  one  like  him 
approaches  his  reader  with  doleful  coun- 
tenance, pours  into  the  ear  a  tale  of 
secret  sorrow,  and  when  the  sympathies 
are  enlisted  surprises  his  confidant  with 
a  horse-laugh.  It  seems  as  though 
332 


A  Word  about  Humour 

Nature  had  endowed  him  with  a  most 
delicate  sensibility  and  a  keen  perception 
of  the  ridiculous,  that  his  own  feelings 
may  afford  him  a  perpetual  subject  for 
banter."  This  incessant  intermingling 
of  the  most  delicate  feeling  with  the 
broadest  or  keenest  satire  was,  of  course, 
temperamental ;  no  one  has  ever  passed 
from  one  mood  to  the  other  so  swiftly 
as  Heine.  But  the  transition  is  charac- 
teristic of  all  the  great  humourists.  One 
does  not  need  to  read  Heine  very 
thoroughly  to  discover  that  there  is  a 
constant  struggle  in  his  soul,  —  a  strug- 
gle to  break  with  Hebraism,  and  recon- 
cile himself  with  Hellenism.  He  revolts 
against  the  Hebrew  spirit,  because  it 
seems  to  rob  him  of  a  goodly  portion  of 
life ;  to  recover  the  beauty  and  harmony 
which  seem  to  have  perished  with  the 
Greeks  is  at  once  the  endeavour  and  the 
pang  of  his  life.  It  is  this  conscious- 
ness of  dissonance  which  inspires  the 
spirit  of  mockery  in  him.  He  cannot 
feel  at  home  in  his  own  time ;  it  limits 
.u  333 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

him,  hinders  him,  binds  him ;  it  is,  in 
his  feeling  at  least,  too  small  for  him. 
Consciously  or  unconsciously,  he  is  al- 
ways fighting  against  limitations  and 
striving  after  a  broader  life.  This  is  the 
deeper  significance  of  his  work,  as  it  is 
the  deepest  significance  of  humour. 

For  that  which  was  true  of  Heine  was 
still  more  true  of  Aristophanes,  —  the 
most  audacious  of  all  the  humourists. 
It  was  Heine  himself  who  said :  "  A 
deep  idea  of  world-destruction  lies  at 
the  root  of  every  Aristophanic  comedy, 
and,  like  a  fantastically  ironical  magic- 
tree,  springs  up  in  it  with  blooming 
ornaments  of  thought,  with  singing 
nightingales,  and  climbing,  chattering 
apes ; "  and  he  speaks  elsewhere  of  the 
Aristophanic  "jubilee  of  death  and  fire- 
works of  annihilation."  The  sweep  of 
Aristophanes's  imagination,  the  license 
of  his  fancy,  the  depth  and  beauty  of 
his  thought,  the  lawless  audacity  of  his 
satire,  give  an  impression  of  fathomless 
scepticism,  —  the  searching  irony  of  a 
334 


A  Word  about  Humour 

god  looking  on  human  life  from  the 
standpoint  of  cynical  indifference.  He 
handles  his  materials  with  a  kind  of 
Olympian  breadth  and  ease,  —  more  like 
a  god  creating  worlds  out  of  his  own 
surplusage  of  vitality  than  like  a  sati- 
rist. It  is  highly  improbable  that  he 
was  the  deliberate  and  conscious  moral- 
ist which  some  of  his  German  students 
and  critics  have  held  him  to  be ;  but  the 
vein  of  seriousness  in  his  work  is  quite 
as  evident  as  the  vein  of  poetry  ;  and  in 
a  certain  swift  and  splendid  effectiveness, 
no  poet  has  ever  surpassed  him.  To 
his  most  careless  reader  he  conveys  a 
sense  of  freedom,  an  idea  of  breadth  and 
vastness,  which  are  at  times  almost  over- 
whelming. He  moves  in  the  creative 
element;  his  influence  plays  like  fire 
upon  the  habits,  beliefs,  and  vices  which 
seemed  to  him  corrupt,  false,  or  ridicu- 
lous. His  work  was,  in  its  ultimate 
effect,  the  work  of  a  liberator. 

If  this  expansive  quality  of  humour, 
this  liberating  force,  is  characteristic  of 
335 


Essays  In  Literary  Interpretation 

the  destructive  humourists,  it  is  still 
more  notable  and  significant  in  the  con- 
structive humourists, —  those  who,  like 
Shakespeare,  Moliere,  Cervantes,  Rich- 
ter,  and  Carlyle,  have  dealt  with  life 
with  broad  or  genial  earnestness  and  sin- 
cerity. The  study  of  both  schools  of 
humour  brings  out  clearly  the  very  sig- 
nificant fact  that  humour  involves  the 
background  of  a  greater  world  than  that 
in  which  the  humourists  sport.  Carlyle 
says  of  Socrates  that  he  was  "  terribly  at 
ease  in  Zion ; "  he  handled  life  and  its 
deepest  concerns  with  an  ease  and  free- 
dom which  betray  a  consciousness  of 
being  at  home  amid  the  mysteries  of 
existence  and,  in  a  way,  superior  to 
them.  That  is  the  attitude  of  the  great 
humourist:  he  plays  with  life  in  the 
sense  in  which  play  implies  greater  range 
and  freedom  than  work.  For  while 
work  involves  a  certain  subjection  of  the 
man  to  his  toil,  a  certain  submission  of 
the  artisan  to  the  task,  play  implies  ease, 
freedom,  and  fulness.  Play  is  the  spon- 
23^ 


A  Word  about  Humour 

taneous  overflow  of  a  great  force,  the 
natural  and  painless  putting  forth  of 
strength,  the  delight  and  fertility  of  the 
artist  handling  his  material  as  the  plastic 
medium  of  his  thought. 

The  rigid  logician,  refusing  the  aid  of 
insight  and  rejecting  the  imagination  as 
untrustworthy,  stands  under  the  shadow 
of  the  globe,  and  bends,  like  an  over- 
laden Atlas,  under  the  appalling  weight 
of  the  burden.  He  moves  within  fixed 
limits,  along  prescribed  paths,  —  often 
with  passionate  eagerness  and  intensity 
of  spirit,  but  oblivious  of  all  sides  of  life 
save  the  one  upon  which  the  thought  is 
fixed,  and  with  the  air  of  one  passing 
over  dangerous  territory  and  dreading 
solicitation  or  attack.  The  humourist, 
on  the  other  hand,  stands  aside  from  the 
world,  and  watches  its  movement  as  part 
of  a  greater  order ;  studies  it  with  an 
audacious  ease  and  equipoise ;  judges  it 
with  the  assurance  of  one  whose  vision 
includes  the  whole  of  which  it  is  part. 
He  feels  its  suflfering  and  recognises  its 
a«  337 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

tragic  elements  ;  but  in  his  broad  con- 
ception the  shadows  are  relieved  by  the 
lights,  and  the  gloom  of  the  parts  is 
swallowed  up  in  the  brightness  of  the 
whole.  For  while  the  humourist  is 
often  a  pessimist  so  far  as  immediate 
conditions  are  concerned,  he  is  an  opti- 
mist in  his  faith  in  the  reality  of  the 
universe  and  the  dignity  and  worth  of 
life  in  its  completeness. 

Socrates  was  at  ease  and  could  play  at 
times  ironically  with  matters  of  appar- 
ently deepest  moment,  because,  beyond 
all  local  and  racial  beliefs,  he  had  the 
resource  of  a  fundamental  faith.  Carlyle, 
whose  humour  and  imagination  so  con- 
stantly acted  and  reacted  upon  each 
other,  made  traditions  and  conventions 
pitiful  or  absurd,  by  evoking  that  back- 
ground of  infinity  and  eternity  against 
which  all  human  life  is  set.  Shake- 
speare's tragic  power  is  found,  in  the 
last  analysis,  to  be  one  with  his  comic 
power;  both  flow  from  his  nature  and 
his  view  of  life.  He  deals  with  the 
338. 


A  Word  about  Humour 

tragic  forces  as  one  who  is  superior  to 
them ;  for  they  are,  in  fact,  inimical  only 
to  those  who  offend  against  the  laws 
whose  servants  they  are.  He  describes 
their  operation,  and  records  their  appall- 
ing results  with  no  lack  of  that  funda- 
mental seriousness  which  is  the  mood 
of  every  profound  nature,  but  with  the 
calmness  and  quietude  of  soul  that  come 
from  the  ability  to  look  beyond  the  pass- 
ing blackness  and  fury  of  the  storm  into 
the  heavens  which  they  obscure  for  the 
moment,  only  to  make  their  serenity  and 
purity  the  more  apparent.  Speaking 
reverently,  there  is  something  of  the  di- 
vine repose  in  the  greatest  humour,  — 
the  repose  which  comes  from  a  vision  of 
the  totality  of  things. 

Humour  in  this  elemental  sense  is 
the  perception  of  those  contrasts  and 
incongruities  which  are  a  part  of  the 
very  texture  of  human  life.  From  the 
standpoint  of  a  formally  logical  view  of 
life  this  contrast  is  pathetic  and  even 
tragic ;  from  the  standpoint  of  the  large, 
339 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

free  interpretation  of  faith,  through  the 
imagination,  this  contrast  is  full  of  hu- 
mour. From  the  divine  point  of  view, 
there  is  the  same  element  of  humour  in 
human  life  which  the  mature  mind  finds 
in  those  experiences  of  childhood  which 
are  painful,  because  they  arise  from  igno- 
rance of  the  relative  duration  and  impor- 
tance of  things.  There  is,  as  an  acute 
thinker  has  pointed  out,  something  fun- 
damentally humorous  in  the  very  condi- 
tions of  human  life  ;  in  the  spectacle  of 
immortal  souls  becoming  merchants  and 
trafficking  in  all  manner  of  perishable 
wares,  and  of  these  same  imperishable 
souls  spending  energy  and  heart  in  a 
struggle  to  feed  and  clothe  a  body  which 
is  but  the  shell  of  the  spirit.  Humour 
has  its  source  in  this  fundamental  con- 
trast between  the  human  soul,  with  its 
far-reaching  relations  and  its  immortality, 
and  the  conditions  of  its  mortal  life. 
This  elemental  humour  has  had  no  more 
striking  expression  of  late  years  than  in 
"  Sartor  Resartus,"  —  a  work  of  genius 
340 


A  Word  about  Humour 

conceived  in  the  deepest  spirit  of  humour, 
and  finding  its  theme  in  the  contrast  be- 
tween a  spirit  and  the  clothes  which  it 
wears.  "  To  the  eye  of  vulgar  Logic," 
says  Teufelsdrockh,  "  what  is  man  ?  An 
omnivorous  Biped  that  wears  Breeches. 
To  the  eye  of  Pure  Reason  what  is  he  ? 
A  Soul,  a  Spirit,  and  divine  Apparition. 
Round  his  mysterious  Me,  there  lies, 
under  all  those  wool-rags,  a  Garment 
of  Flesh  (or  of  Senses)  contextured  in 
the  Loom  of  Heaven ;  whereby  he  is  re- 
vealed to  his  like,  and  dwells  with  them 
in  Union  and  Division;  and  sees  and 
fashions  for  himself  a  Universe,  with 
azure  Starry  Spaces,  and  long  Thousands 
of  Years.  Deep-hidden  is  he  under  that 
strange  Garment ;  amid  Sounds  and  Col- 
ours and  Forms,  as  it  were,  swathed-in 
and  inextricably  over-shrouded  :  yet  it  is 
sky-woven,  and  worthy  of  a  God.  Stands 
he  not  thereby  in  the  centre  of  Immen- 
sities, in  the  conflux  of  Eternities  ?  " 

This  contrast  between  the  Finite  and 
the    Infinite  is  the  source  of  the   deep 
341 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

and  sane  humour  which  is  shared  by  all 
the  creative  minds.  For  it  is  signifi- 
cant that,  with  the  possible  exception  of 
Dante,  all  the  greatest  men  have  been 
richly  endowed  with  this  quality,  and  the 
Italians  claim  it  for  Dante.  If  life  is 
long  enough  and  comprehensive  enough 
to  provide  for  the  final  reconcilement 
of  apparent  contradictions,  and  the  final 
adjustment  of  all  just  claims  for  oppor- 
tunity and  happiness,  then  humour  be- 
comes a  prophecy  of  the  joyful  outcome 
of  all  struggles  and  incongruities,  and  of 
the  final  resolution  of  all  discords  into 
harmony.  In  natures  of  the  widest 
range,  this  fundamental  faith  seems  to 
be  implicit  in  the  consciousness ;  it  lies 
below  all  thinking,  and  gives  it  ease, 
freedom,  and  the  sportiveness  of  child- 
hood, which  plays  serenely  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  sublimest  forces,  not  through 
insensibility,  but  through  confidence  in 
the  benignity  of  the  universal  order.  The 
narrower,  severer  minds,  like  Calvin, — 
following  rigidly  logical  processes,  and 
342 


A  Word  about  Humour 

shutting  a  large  part  of  life  out  of  the 
field  of  vision,  —  are  not  only  partial  and 
inadequate  interpreters  of  life,  but  seem 
to  be  always  desperately  contending 
against  atheism  ;  the  large,  sunny,  poetic 
natures,  on  the  other  hand,  have  such 
rootage  in  essential  faith  that,  without 
loss  of  mortal  earnestness,  they  can  deal 
with  the  contrasts  of  human  history  in 
the  free,  confident  spirit  of  humour.  If 
the  mistake  which  the  boy  makes  in 
his  Latin  grammar  involves  permanent 
ignorance,  there  is  an  element  of  sadness 
in  it ;  but  if  it  is  to  be  succeeded  ulti- 
mately by  mastery  of  the  subject,  it  is 
humorous,  and  we  smile  at  it.  If  the 
grief  at  some  small  loss  is  as  final  and 
lasting  as  it  appears  to  a  child,  it  is  sad 
enough ;  but  if  it  is  soon  to  be  forgot- 
ten, if,  later,  a  fuller  knowledge  is  to 
reveal  an  exaggeration  of  emotion,  then 
the  exaggeration  becomes  humorous, 
and  we  smile  at  the  recollection.  If 
life  be  as  great  as  our  highest  hopes, 
many  of  our  present  sorrows  must  have 
343 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

this  ignorance  of  relative  importance  in 
them ;  however  real  and  painful  they 
are,  they  must  present  to  an  intelligence 
higher  than  ours  an  element  of  exaggera- 
tion. If  the  contrast  between  Finite  and 
the  Infinite,  between  Real  and  the  Ideal, 
is  permanent,  then  the  life  of  men  is  the 
saddest,  hardest,  and  most  bitter  exist- 
ence imaginable.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
these  contrasts  are  the  contrasts  between 
different  stages  of  a  successful  devel- 
opment ;  if  contradiction,  incongruity, 
and  imperfection  are  passing  phases  in 
a  progression  toward  final  harmony, — 
then  the  life  of  man  permits  of  the  free- 
dom, the  delight,  the  confidence,  of  se- 
cure and  happy  childhood.  The  sanest 
souls  instinctively  believe  their  noblest 
conception  of  the  range  and  significance 
of  life;  and  because  they  believe,  hu- 
mour springs  up  like  a  fountain  of  joy 
in  them.  And  so  humour  of  the  highest 
kind  becomes  the  truest  evidence  of  that 
fundamental  faith  which  lays  its  founda- 
tions deeper  than  all  systems  of  dogma, 
344 


A  Word  about  Humour 

The  humourists  are  always  struggling 
for  a  broader  world,  because  they  be- 
lieve that  such  a  world  exists. 

The  part  which  humour  plays  as  a 
refuge  from  crushing  care  and  calamity, 
a  resource  under  the  pressure  of  respon- 
sibilities too  heavy  to  be  borne,  is  not 
clearly  recognised  save  by  the  few  who 
have  given  thought  to  the  subject. 
There  is  a  general  impression  that  hu- 
mour involves  levity,  and  that  the  man 
who  permits  it  to  play  for  a  moment 
in  the  clouds  which  overshadow  him 
is  lacking  in  seriousness  of  nature,  or  is 
oblivious  of  the  deeper  aspects  of  his 
surroundings.  This  impression  is  the 
very  reverse  of  the  truth ;  for  humour 
of  the  highest  quality  Is  never  far  from 
sadness,  and  is  always  allied  with  funda- 
mental gravity  of  character.  Humour 
is  not  the  resource  of  men  of  levity  and 
superficial  views  of  life ;  it  is  the  re- 
source of  men  in  whose  temperaments 
the  tragical  note  is  dominant,  and  who 
feel  too  keenly  the  pressure  of  the  tragic 
345 


Essays  in  Literary  Interpretation 

element.  Edwin  Booth  writes  of  his 
father :  "  For  a  like  reason  would  my 
father  open,  so  to  speak,  the  safety-valve 
of  levity  in  some  of  his  most  impas- 
sioned moments.  At  the  instant  of  in- 
tense emotion,  when  the  spectators  were 
enthralled  by  his  magnetic  influence,  the 
tragedian's  overwrought  brain  would 
take  refuge  from  its  own  threatening 
storm  beneath  the  jester's  hood,  and, 
while  turned  from  the  audience,  he 
would  whisper  some  silliness,  or  '  make 
a  face.'  When  he  left  the  stage,  how- 
ever, no  allusion  to  such  seeming  frivol- 
ity was  permitted.  His  fellow-actors 
who  perceived  these  trivialities  igno- 
rantly  attributed  his  conduct  at  such 
times  to  lack  of  feeling  j  whereas  it  was 
extreme  excess  of  feeling  which  thus 
forced  his  brain  back  from  the  very 
verge   of  madness.'* 

The  name  of  Booth  suggests  another 

name   which    has   become   synonymous 

with  both  tragedy  and  humour.     There 

were  many  to  whom  Mr.  Lincoln's  hu- 

346 


A  Word  about  Humour 

mour,  in  those  terrible  years  of  strain 
and  struggle,  seemed  not  only  a  viola- 
tion of  good  taste,  but  a  kind  of  irrev- 
erence. They  did  not  recognise  the 
pathos  of  that  lonely  and  over-burdened 
life,  the  sadness  of  that  great  and  soli- 
tary nature.  Humour  was  something 
more  than  a  resource  to  Mr.  Lincoln ; 
it  was  the  safeguard  of  sanity.  It  was 
the  relaxation  of  the  tension  of  mind 
which  made  the  preservation  of  the  men- 
tal equilibrium  possible  ;  it  was  the  mo- 
mentary play  of  the  heart  breaking  away 
from  the  appalling  problems  with  which 
the  intellect  was  constantly  dealing,  and 
from  which,  for  long  Intervals  of  time, 
there  seemed  no  escape.  It  was  the 
sudden  reassurance  of  the  spirit  almost 
overborne  by  the  responsibilities  which 
rested  upon  it;  the  swift  flight  of  the 
soul  out  of  the  storm  into  the  serenity 
beyond  the  circle  of  its  ravages.  There 
was  fundamental  faith  in  it. 


347 


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